Dark Passenger
by Whedonist
Summary: 2 in the One Last Shot A.U. - Buffy, Willow and a vacation - a simple recipe for disaster.
1. Black Hat Born

**A/N:** A few things need to be discussed before any of you begin reading. We can also me being home ill today for the early posting.

**First –** this story is the second piece of fiction set in the One Last Shot Universe. While I tried my best for yinz guys to not have to read One Last Shot, I think it would help. There's back story there and not all of it is explained here. So you will see some femslash (Buffy/Willow). If you don't like it, really you can close the browser window or tab now. It'll save you lots of grief and me the headache of wanting to beat people about the facial area with a dead fish.

**Second –** For the crossover elements in the story, the Miami that Dexter lives in and Dexter himself (along with his family and co-workers) are an amalgamation of the series that airs on Showtime and the characters as they were written by Jeff Lindsay (for those of you that don't know, Dexter is based off of a novel the first book is called Darkly Dreaming Dexter, there are three other books that follow).

**Lastly –** I do not own Dexter, Buffy or any of the other characters that are not mine. Jimmy's mine and I have enough of a soft spot for him so…Fox, Showtime, Joss Whedon, Jeff Lindsay and other people that make way more than me, own the main characters. For fun, really not here for the money (and the benefits package leaves a bit to be desired too).

_Side note. Italics are internal dialogue i.e. telepathy between characters. _

Thank you – Didge and Valyssia, I'm sure there are others…it's uber early and I can't remember all of them right now. Oh, and thank you to Powerman 5000 for helping out with some musical inspiration while writing this. The chapter titles are lyrics from Heroes and Villains.

Feedback, flames, questions, comments and general rumblings can be left here (if the option to review is there).

* * *

**Ch. 1 – Black Hat Born**

Willow's hand firmly grips mine as my partner weaves in and out of traffic on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. She's got a death grip on my hand. It hurts, but it still makes me smile. They used to joke about me and my driving—'kay, so…_lack of_— driving skills. Since being in New York, I'm thinkin' I fit right in.

Jimmy honks the horn and shakes his fist out the car window. He curses, "You stupid mook, learn to fuckin' drive. I should ticket your ass and then maybe you'd get some damn sense!"

A giggle escapes my lips. The only thing I can do is sit back and enjoy the ride. I rest my head against the back of the seat and close my eyes. Jimmy will get us to the airport safe and sound. Will may need some oxygen for the hyperventilation, but—hey, we'll get there.

I turn my head and look at the skyline. It provides the classic backdrop to New York City. I've been in the city five years and I still find it pretty. As wacky as my life was, or is, being here is the best move that I could've made. At some point, I'm gonna have to bite the bullet and thank Faith for the suggestion.

Not sure who to thank for the whole career choice thing. Snyder? I stifle my giggle and decide to firmly not. There're times that being a cop…it feels a little surreal. Like Buffy got dropped in an alternate dimension. Four years of my adult life. Weird.

Funnier still is they think I'm good at it. Last year, Jimmy and I both received commendations and were bumped up to Detective First Grade. Wasn't really looking for it, but it happened. We still work Robbery Homicide out of the 24th; they just give me more money. And the best: I get a bigger clothing allowance. When our captain, Patrick Johnson, told me, it took every ounce of self control I had to not give him a bear hug.

All Jimmy did was give me a sideways glance and this look—the look that's reserved for me and only me. I hate that look. The other really good: I finally got Jimmy to throw away some of his ties. His ties need to be banned. They're like, weird torture devices. Seriously, they hurt me. We got him new ones and I got to two new suits.

Let's be honest, I may be able to find fashionable and affordable clothes…but those two suits at the Dolce and Gabbana Store on Madison _needed_ to be bought.

I turn my attention from the receding skyline and look over at my lover, my best friend, my Will. We've been going strong for three years...our three year anniversary was this past April.

It was—she surprised me at the precinct. I had this uber-romantic thing planned. Reservations at the Rainbow Room. I'd hired a chauffeur to take us everywhere. But I was also in the middle of this huge case. The night got cancelled, or so I thought. She came and grabbed me for a private picnic on the rooftop of the station…just about perfect, even better than what I'd planned. Not gonna tell her that though.

And Will…she's been quite the busy college student. I'm so proud. I snagged a doctor. Mom would be thrilled. I don't really know how she'd feel about the doctor being a girl, but she took the 'slayer' thing…well, she got past it. The 'Buffy's gay' thing should've been no sweat for her. I know she'd have liked to see Will graduate med school. Hell, Will's parents even showed up.

They don't take to me being her lover that well. Sheila still doesn't get my name right. I'll do 'the admit' and say I'm horrible with names—one of the worst. But after twelve years, you'd think the big brain would remember. I told Jimmy that if she calls me Bunny or Bamby one more time, I'm gonna shoot her. Luckily, that time, Will got us out of their presence hastily.

"Cupcake, why the hell d'you have to pick La Guardia to fly out of?" Jimmy whines from the driver's seat. I pick my head up and meet his gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Because that's where the travel agent got 'em out of. And no, shooting or arresting the travel agent is not allowable," I joke back. The tickets were the right price for first class and everything else seemed to fall into place. Secretly, I'd been planning this trip for months. As soon as Will graduates, we're getting out of Dodge and going to Miami.

I get surf, sun, fun and a bikini clad redhead all to myself for an entire month. Neither Will, nor I, has had a vacation in three years. She's been school girl and New York and crime are like—they're like something that can't exist without the other. I've been busy.

The airport finally comes into view and I heave a sigh of relief. I think my hand's going to be permanently curled when Willow finally lets go. I look at her and see her visibly relax as Jimmy pulls up to the curb and puts the car in park. Gently, I ease my hand from her loosening grip and flex it to make sure it still works. Yep, curled. Oh well.

I step out of the nice air conditioned car into the muggy July weather. Stretching, I watch as Jimmy gets out and starts pulling our bags from the trunk and piling them on the curb.

"Cupcake, how many pieces of luggage do you actually need?" he asks, grunting under the weight of a rather large suitcase.

Will smiles and answers, "We're going to be gone for a month. A girl needs her things."

Jimmy rolls his eyes and snarks, "The fact that there are two'a yinz doesn't help. Damn women and their junk. Clears up all sortsa questions about why I'm still single."

I quirk an eyebrow and say, "Jimmy—you single—isn't 'cause we girls like our clothes. It's your taste in them."

He looks at me confused and cocks his head to the side. "The women or the clothes?"

I give it a brief moment of thought and then with a grin, reply, "Both."

He scowls as he heaves the last bag onto the curb and slams the trunk down. I walk over to him and wrap my right arm around his waist, leading him to the baggage check-in desk at the front of the terminal. One of the attendants grabs our stuff and throws it on a cart to follows us.

"Admit it," I say, "you'll miss us."

Willow attaches herself to his other side and I feel her hand brush my waist. "Yeah, Jimmy. What will you do without Buff to boss around for an entire month?" I look around Jimmy and see the mischief dance in my lover's eyes.

He lifts his arms and drapes them across our shoulders. Squeezing, he admits, "Well, I'm gonna hafta cook for one. I might actually do some work at the precinct. Yeah, _yeah_, I'll miss ya."

I grin and squeeze him back. This is going to be the longest we've been apart since we've been partnered. When Will came to me three April's ago, I got a few surprises. The first was that her and I finally got over whatever it was that kept us apart. She loves me. She loves me like I love her and we haven't been apart since.

The second is my Jimmy. Despite the year and a half we'd worked together, we'd never actually bonded. We trusted each other, but there— Will says it's 'cause I wouldn't get close to anyone. Maybe she's right. But Jimmy, he wormed? 'Kay, so…maybe not _wormed_…but he proved himself I guess. He proved he could be trusted…with everything. And by 'everything', I'm talkin' the whole enchilada…my past, Sunnydale, the existence of Slayers and demons. And he only passed out once.

Our relationship is different, I can't find the words. He's not like a father…or a brother. It's more. Besides Will, he's the only person I trust implicitly. I trust him with her. Which is huge. Words usually fail me when I try to think about it or talk about it. Words fail me anyhow, but he's like my left leg and arm. Will's the right part, he's the left part. I guess that's as good as I'm gonna get. Never was one for word-smithing.

Will goes to the clerk and begins checking our bags. I search through my carry on and make sure I have my badge and red tag signaling that I'm carrying a live fire arm onto a plane. The F.A.A. is kinda strict about that. After making sure that everything is in order, I turn to Jimmy and smile. He's got this weird half-smile going on. He only gets it when he's about to be mushy. I do an internal eye roll and grab his hand.

"Cupcake," he starts out. Quickly clearing his throat to mask the sappy, he continues, "You keep each other safe. I know you can take care of yourself and Red's more'n capable, but I don't need to tell you how cranky I'd be if I got a call sayin' somethin' happened to you both."

I nod and pull him into a hug. I stifle a laugh as he stiffens. He still gets a little skittish when I hug him. Too bad, I'm a hugger. Deal. I pull back, looking into his soft green eyes before I reply, "Don't worry about me and the missus—" he grins as I use his verbiage for Will and me "—we'll be fine. Vacation. Miami. It's going to be low key and relaxing. I'm more worried about you."

"Awe shucks Kiddo, I'll be good. Pat put me with Vice until you come back so it should be fun." He smiles ruefully. I know what Vice is like and it's not a barrel of laughs. It's the anti-barrel.

"That's exactly my point!" I exclaim, "That squad's nothing but a bunch of…of cowboys." Damn, I need to find a better word to describe their haphazard respect for life. "Something happens to you while I'm gone—all bets are off."

He grins, winks and nods. He's the only one that I know that can pull that off. Weird. "I'll be good," he says. "I'll try to stick to desk work."

The smile he wears tells me it's a lie. He hates desk work. He hates it more than I do and that's saying something. 'Cuz I really, really, really hate sitting at my desk. Flashing him a wry grin, I snark, "Right…and I'll come back with a boob job and a cabana boy."

He shakes his head and is about ready to comment when Will joins the conversation, her eyebrows in her hairline. I think she may've caught that last part.

"Sweetie, you get a boob job and bring back a cabana boy, I better be dead." She grins at us both and my cheeks flame red.

"Well, there you go. We have to come back okay." I smile nodding my agreement.

Jimmy slings an arm over Willow's shoulder and walks us to the terminal doors. "Cupcake, Red, enjoy the vacation. Call me when you land."

We nod and pull him into a huge group hug. My eye's lock with Will's and we come to a silent agreement. Pulling him in tighter, we both take a cheek and plant firm kisses on our respective sides. I feel the heat rise up in his face and let him go.

"Love you, old man," Will and I both say at the same time.

He nods and says, "Love you ladies too. Be good. Don't get arrested. I hate Florida. I ain't comin' to bail ya out." With that he turns and walks back to the car.

We wave one last time before he disappears inside the car and takes off. I look around the area as Will grabs my hand. We walk hand in hand into the airport and off to a month long, sorely needed vacation.

* * *

My face scrunches up with concern as I look around this place and watch Buffy go to the front desk of the hotel—Miami Beach Resort & Spa—to check us in. She never told me how much this whole trip was going to cost us. Now, sure, we don't really have to worry about money. Giles made sure of that…but this, it's a bit much.

It reminds me of that hotel in _Pretty Woman_, where Richard Gere stayed. It's on par, that's for sure, all marbled and shiny. Everyone on staff looks like they're waiting for me to snap my fingers and demand something. It kinda bugs.

I've been lots of places—every major city in the world and some really unknown ones too—but this is different. I've never really traveled the States. Sunnydale to L.A., then New York, that's it. Yes, I know, very sad…but the rest of my time was spent tracking down slayers. I've never stayed in a place like this. Buffy's going to have some explaining to do.

I roll my shoulders, easing some of the tension the flight wrought on my poor back. I don't think first class makes much of a difference. It's a seat that you have to sit in for hours on end. At least everything was arranged. Buffy's put a lot of work into this vacation. From the moment we landed, a driver awaited us. Buffy hired a limo. While she spends money, it's usually not so willy nilly.

I watch her turn around and point at me and our bags. The bell hop hasn't left my side. She flashes me a smile and turns back to the desk clerk, handing over our bank card. Goddess, that makes me nervous. He smiles warmly and hands her two room keys. She turns back around to me and she's got this look. I've kinda only seen it over the past few years. It's a good look for her. It screams happy. I love seeing her happy. I love seeing her, period.

She grabs my hand and I follow. Nope, not much changes in the Willow – Buffy camp. She leads, I follow. Good system. She pulls us further back in the hotel, following the bellhop. I move in closer and my hand brushes her side. I pause for minute and feel the raised flesh beneath the fabric of her shirt.

It's one of the few scars she has remaining from that…from _him. _It's one of the scars that made me worried happy wasn't going to exist after everything that happened when I first came to stay with her. The thing with Nekko, the deaths and the kidnapping. She took all of it in stride, just brushed it off. Which is still weird. I mean, usually she'll get all repressy and carry-onish, but that last major deal—she just let it go. The injuries she suffered, all of it–water under the bridge.

I asked her about the why a few months after everything was said and done, after the case died down and Faith had the baby. We were getting ready to go out to James' club and she had had a hard time choosing an outfit that wouldn't show the scars she had remaining. I watched her scowl at her wardrobe as she stood there in her underwear, showing off in the black lace ones I got for her.

I sat on the bed, looking at the most prominent mark on her left side. He hadn't caused many scars. Surprisingly enough, out of the thirty-four cuts she received, only six scarred. Three on her torso, one on each arm and the last ran along the inside of her thigh.

I had to ask and I did. Her response was not what I expected. She said to me, "Will, I know it's weird. I just can't explain and have it make sense. It's not the torture…it's whatever. I've done worse to myself. Granted, I didn't leave behind the nifty visible scars, but there are some invisible ones. I just—my biggest thought while I was there was about you. Was about how I'd failed you. When you came in, after I woke up, I was just relieved you were okay. You weren't…I didn't lose you. The rest doesn't matter."

I listened to her response. I may not've completely understood it but I accepted it. Admittedly, I was…gone. There was too much going on at the time. And sanity was temporarily absent. So I accepted and moved on.

"Will, you wanna go in or are you gonna stand outside the door all day?" Buffy asks, cutting through my thoughts. I look around at where we are. How'd we get to our room? When did that happen? I shake off the thoughts and go back to focusing on the confused girl looking at me.

I offer her a small apologetic smile and enter our suite. I can't help but smile. The décor is so…tropical. It's white on white and the furniture is very modern, all steel and glass. I think I might break something if we stay here for our entire trip. Gonna hafta be careful.

I watch the bell hop unload our luggage and place it in the foyer. Buffy slips him some money and closes the door behind him. She turns to me with _that_ smirk—the smirk that makes me go all weak in the knees. That smirk should be a registered weapon.

She comes up to me and presses herself against me. I shiver as her mouth zeros in on my neck and she begins a gentle nipping, sucking thing that has a tendency to curl my toes. My arms automatically go around her, pulling her close.

Hey, where'd her mouth go? Oh, ear, hmmm, ear. Her warm breath tickles my ear and I hear her whisper, "I think we can say vacation's officially begun."

I let her steer me to the couch in the living room and push me down. I watch as she backs up and positions herself over my lap so that she's straddling my thighs. Her hair hangs down and falls forward, curtaining our faces. I love her hair down. It's something that I don't see a lot.

Her eyes sparkle as she asks, "So, what's on our agenda the rest of the day?" I lean in and capture her lips. I've got your agenda, missy. I've got it all planned out.

My brain and hands connect and they begin to roam down her back, over her butt and back up. They end up tangled in her hair and I manage between kisses, "Sun, relaxation, you, nakedness. It's all planned out in my head."

I move to the faint scar on her neck and alternate between sucking it and biting it. She'll never admit it, but for some reason having Angel's bite mark nibbled turns her on. Moreover, it's the only scar that's lasted over the years she's been slaying. I wonder… Oh great, jumping Diana! Her hands slide down my front and cup my breasts. She pushes herself further into me. I avoid the impulse to rip at the sundress she wears. It's a pretty dress, blue with a weird rippley pattern. It makes the blue flecks in her hazel eyes stand out. Don't rip it, Willow. Be good.

Instead, I motion for her to stand and I follow her up. I slip the spaghetti straps down her shoulders and kiss the exposed skin. I breathe her in and my head swims. I'm not sure how. Didn't really think it was possible, but the sex—it's gotten better. Oh, hands—hands in familiar places. Where'd my pants go? Wait does it matter? Oh, gods! She's doin' tha…

Floors are good. I can work with floors. I don't have to stand. My legs aren't working right. Stupid legs. Somehow she's gotten both of us naked and the coffee table is…its elsewhere. I need to get some control before she has her way with me. Right, I can work with being on top.

I flip us over and chuckle. Ha! Slayer strength my patootie! Straddling her waist I work my way down her body and spread her open, exposing her to me. My head dips down and the last thought that sticks is this is going to be the best vacation ever.

* * *

The moon hangs fat and grotesque in the night sky. The crickets chirp in time with the other creatures of the dark, creating the perfect music to accompany my little break in. The air is thick and heavy, suffocating even the most seasoned residents of Miami. Mid July brings nothing but heat and humidity. The later wraps around you like a steaming wet blanket determined to squeeze the life from you.

I move silently through the house of one 'Mr. Charles Gilbertson,' plumber extraordinaire. Our dear Charlie garnered the attention of 'Dexter the Demon' one week ago when a string of missing housewives became fodder for our obtuse local news. Everyone was up in arms over the disappearance of Elaine Fischer, Maria Montalvo, and Susanna Castaneda. The police weren't able to find anything and no one had any clues.

It was my other self, my Dark Passenger, who stood to attention in the backseat of Darling Dexter's theoretical soul and snickered knowingly at the news as the latest disappearance made waves. When I set to work, finding the fiend that had taken the lives of our three missing missus, I didn't know where it would lead. I just knew it'd lead somewhere and that our fair ladies were dead. This meant there was another beast in my area.

Even the daftest individual has to know they had shuffled off this mortal coil, but it was how they did it that pushed me towards finding out who was responsible. I smelled blood in the water. When things require serious research, I turn to my trusty computer. It's very rarely failed me in my search for the truth. With a few strokes of some keys and convivial clicks of my mouse, I found an interesting pattern emerge in the lives our three, presumed missing, but actually departed dames.

Miami's crack shot team of crime fighters neglected to notice the van parked down the street from every single house that had a lost lamb. It took some clever enhancement of grainy newspaper photos, but I was able to make out the numbers painted on the front of our Mystery Machine. It tracked back to Mr. Gilbertson's plumbing business and from there it became nothing more than fulfilling the Code of Harry.

As I rifle though Chipper Charlie's drawers, a slight tug takes me back to remember my dear foster father. He was a great man. A man who knew what I was before I did. If it hadn't been for him, I would just be another statistic for the F.B.I. to use in profiling monsters like me. Instead, Harry took me in. He trained me when, how and who to subject to my dark desires. Everyone who's fallen under the knife of Dexter Demented has met Harry's requirements.

People—men and women alike—who commit despicable acts—acts they cover up and with community profiles that usually put them above suspicion…well they create problems. Harry, as good a cop as he was, never could find enough evidence to convict the few that he uncovered. So the rules he gave me are simple. Make sure they are guilty, gather enough evidence to prove to yourself that they did what you think they did, then act.

"Son," he said to me on one of our fishing trips, "When you finally begin. You have to prove it. You have to make sure you are careful. And when I say careful, I'm not just talking about not getting caught. You're different, Dex. You don't feel what other people do. You have to learn to pretend."

So I have. I'm 'Dexter the Great Pretender.' Here to amuse and take out your garbage. Learn to smile at the right times, laugh at the appropriate jokes, or frown when others do because it's supposed to be, whatever it is that's supposed to be, upsetting. Mr. Gilbertson is a pretender too. He's just sloppier than some and happened to fall under the notice of someone more skilled.

I follow Harry's rules. They've only failed me once, but that was a…an exceptional circumstance. Even then, they helped see me through. So tonight, I work my way meticulously through our Robust Rooter's home, looking for that scrap of evidence that'll condemn him to a night with the Dark Avenger.

I search through his closet, then under his bed and through two dressers. I have one left. Let's see what we find. The top three drawers contain the standard articles of clothing, underwear, socks, some pants and shorts. The bottom drawer holds old t-shirts, but the drawer isn't very deep. I cock my head to the side, briefly confused. Shoving the drawer back in, I survey its depth. Ah…I smile knowingly and pull the drawer back open. Carefully, I remove the t-shirts and place them in a neat pile.

Gently, I lift the false bottom and pull the thin wood up to reveal a treasure trove of digital cassettes. I wonder what's on these. I think there was a video camera set up on the living room T.V. How convenient. As I make my way to the living room, I glance down at my watch to make sure I still have enough time. My studies of his habits will put him home tonight at approximately 8:00 pm. He'll have left work at 6, then head on over to a sports bar called 'Angel's' to enjoy his dinner and a few beers. This leaves me another hour before I need to disappear.

I slip the first cassette into the recorder and power up the T.V. Light fills the room and I watch, transfixed, as Charlie lumbers across the screen. He stops in front of a duct taped package, removes a knife from his boot and slits the tape open. From the opening, a body emerges much like a butterfly would from a cocoon. Of course, this butterfly doesn't live to spread its wings. No, this butterfly perishes sooner than most at the hands of Mr. Gilbertson.

It takes a second more of inspecting the footage to recognize the terrified face of Elaine Fischer. She writhes out of her duct tape cocoon and my Mindful Monster is satisfied that Harry's guidelines are met. I don't need to see the other tapes in my hand to know that Charles Gilbertson is officially being assigned a confrontation with Dexter the Dark Knight.

I remove the tape and slip it into my pocket. As I make my way back to the master bedroom, I replace everything I moved or disturbed. On my way out, I make one last sweep of the house to make sure I left no traces of my presence here tonight. I make my way down to my car parked on the other side of the block. Light in step and heart, I'm secure in the knowledge that I will soon be able to quiet my Dark Passenger and go back to be being Dashing Dexter the Dull.


	2. Sometimes the Good Guys

**Ch. 2 – Sometimes the Good Guys…**

The warm sea breeze caresses my skin like an old lover and the sun warms me under its intense gaze. I'm not usually one to wax poetic about things, but God how I've missed the beach. We've not even been here a week and the beach still feels all shiny and new. Sure, New York has lots. Lots of great stuff, in fact. Their beaches aren't part of the great. Not by a long shot.

Closing my eyes, I open my other senses to their full capacity. The first that hits is smell. The mix of suntan lotion, sweat and hormones causes my nostrils to flare. The smells bring back distant memories of summers spent with the gang in Sunnydale, of happier times with my mom and Dawnie, spending a day in Santa Monica.

Sweat beads and drips down my legs and arms. And the distinct hum of having Willow near causes me to relax. My muscles go slack as I rest against the back of my lounge chair. Cracking my right eye open, I spy Willow. A white sarong covers her bottom half, her upper body bare except for a white halter style bikini top. The large hat she wears shields her face from the sun.

My eyes travel down, starting from the top and roaming over her form. It's funny. Three years we've been together and we've had our ups and downs—much like her legs. They go up. Well, one does. Her right one's bent at the knee causing the wrap to slip open and reveal creamy white thigh. To tas…

Right…focus—back to the focusing.

Relaxy, mind-drifty goodness. Tearing my gaze away from the woman next to me, I look at the people on the beach. I don't think I've seen this many people on one stretch of sand. People are lined up everywhere. Umbrellas, blankets and toys cover a lot. I sit up a little and start to people watch. A particular group of older teens catch my eye. They're getting ready to start a barbeque. They look pretty happy together.

The last time me and the gang were together was for Dawn's birthday last July. Everyone came for it. Xander and Faith came in from Cleveland with Isabella. Giles took time from running the school in Scotland to fly in too.

My little brat sister is Head Watcher in London. I know there's an official title, I can't remember it. She's all grown up and so much has changed. Well not lots, lots, but enough.

Xander and Faith hold down the fort in Cleveland. They don't lose nearly as many slayers now. The only problem is that Dawn's little translation was correct. There are no new slayers being called. Isabella's it. She's the last of us.

After I got out of the hospital—after the abduction—Giles had the entire Council get together. I had to be there. And I listened as he explained that the girls we had were going to be it. That time would tell if the slayer line would be bound to the Lehane bloodline and what that would mean if it was.

Truthfully, it doesn't matter. There are slayers now. The demon populace is either going to dwindle or we're going to have to come to some type of agreement on how to coexist…my guess…we're gonna go for genocide. I don't see many demons being all woo and hoo about trying _not_ to kill us.

I can see it now. On this beach even. Everyone here that's enjoying a nice, fun filled day at the beach, the kids playing in the surf twenty feet from me or the women and girls sunbathing all around will laugh and mingle with Golrache, Chaos, and Lacroth demons. It'll be a thing.

Clem can finally join the regular population and try to explain his kitten fetish. Xander and the boys in the group of barbequers could join some vamps in the evening for campfire sing-a-longs and s'mores. Uh huh, that'll happen right after I have sex with Angel again.

Although, Xander's the best at trying to keep Will and I posted on the goings on. Is it bad that I don't want to know? It's nice that they care. It's good even that they are happy doing that. I'd like to say I was. It'd be a lie. Glad to save the world. Happy to do my duty, but my duty's done. So sayeth my witch.

'Kay, so, I still patrol. They're light patrols and Willow always comes with. Jimmy too sometimes if he can stay awake. I take care of my little corner of the world and let the rest take care of itself. Jo, my precinct therapist, says I've grown leaps and bounds in that whole responsibility department.

It's not one girl anymore—it's not just the 'Chosen One.' I'm me, free to do whatever I want. I want to help people. I do. Color me job satisfied…finally.

My gaze keeps on drifting over to Willow. She's—I never understood that whole 'growing into yourself' thing. I always thought that you were just you. She's grown. More than I could have imagined. I've been around for some of it. But the growing—it's more than a physical thing. Maybe she's just got that whole 'comfy in my skin thing' down.

I think she's ousted me as the style maven of our group now. Her argument during the shopping spree we took right before we came here was that she wasn't coming to Miami with a bikini that's three years old…so outdated. Really, who could argue with that? You gotta keep up on the styles. That and—Willow, me, shopping for swimsuits? I so need a montage of that. We barely made it out of the dressing rooms.

She bought the white one—which gotta say, totally sexy. And I have a stylish one piece. She insists that it looks good. I pout. How am I supposed to get a nice even tan?

"Baby," her soft voice brings me out of my reverie. Shielding my eyes, I look over to her and smile. I know it's a goofy smile, but I can't seem to help it.

"What?" I question as she peers over her sunglasses at me. I think I may have missed something. Oops.

"Where'd you go? I've been asking if you're ready to go." She smirks and shakes her head.

Busted. I bite my lower lip and shrug. Better make with the honest. "I was just thinkin' about what a good idea this trip was."

"It was—a good idea that is—and so needed."

I nod in agreement, taking her hand in mine. "So you were asking about leaving? Why would we leave?"

Willow turns her head and nods in the direction of the horizon, saying, "The sun's setting and we've got reservations at Barton's for seven. I don't know about you, but I need a shower. I'm all sticky."

I smirk and wiggle my eyebrows. For my crude innuendo, I get a playful swat on my arm and the 'Buffy, behave look' that hasn't changed since we've met. I laugh and say, "It's not that late, we've only been here…" I fumble for my cell phone and light up the display. Okay so we've been sitting on the beach four hours. "Right…so, going—showers are good. I could use one myself."

She rises to her feet before nodding. Her outstretched hand offers assistance in getting me out of the chair I've been lounging in. I gladly accept and we gather our things, making our way back to our hotel. Gotta say lovin' the vacation so far.

* * *

As the cab pulls to a stop in front of our hotel, I frown. What is that? It feels like a tickle in the back of my brain. Something involving magick has happened around here, or is happening. It bugs, but what am I gonna do? Go hunt it down? I really don't think so. I've got plans with a blonde tonight and if I track down every vibration from magick that I feel, that's all that I'd do.

So, I should probably just ignore it. Yep, ignoring. It's a good thing to do. No magical buzz, check. Let's try to do more focusing on the way I'm being looked at. I return the look my lover gives me and step out of the taxi, taking her hand. The night is warm, not much different than New York. Well, that's not true, it's more humid. Which I didn't think was possible.

With my free hand, I push the hair from in front of my eyes and follow her through the hotel lobby. Dinner was excellent. Buffy enjoyed it, which I guess is the most important part. They were all flashy with the service and the chocolate fountain at desert. And, umm, wow…I don't think my stomach's gonna forgive me anytime soon.

The elevator dings and I follow her on. I turn, ready to wrap my arms around her waist and begin nibbling her neck, but stop when another couple steps in the cab with us. Damn. Double damn. I've wanted to get my nibble on since the start of dinner. I send a glare to the brunette and her carbon copy GQ boyfriend, which of course they don't see.

We are the first to exit…and damnit…there it is again. Willow, get a grip, just ignore the tinglies and go back to Buffy. Remember the time spent studying, the time away from Buffy, the time we're making up for now. Setting my jaw, I ignore the slight tug at my senses. Back to Buffy. Resolve's a good, good thing.

I follow my slayer to our door and don't have much of an opportunity to get through before I'm pulled in. Well, patience was never one of her strong suits. Before the door shuts, I have her lips pressed over mine, her body molded to my body. We half-walk, half-stumble towards… Wait! The kitchen?

I stop the smoochies and raise an eyebrow. She smiles and turns, practically bouncing, towards the refrigerator. I peer over her shoulder as she looks into the fridge and see what she was apparently coming to get. A tray of strawberries, cheese, and a bottle of champagne are waiting for us. Awe, how sweet. When did she learn to plan like this?

I slide up behind her and kiss the back of her ear, whispering, "Why don't you go get more comfy. I'll bring this in." I offer because—hey, she thought of it. It's the least I can do. I feel her nod and watch her depart, appreciating the view.

I pull the tray out, careful not to tip the bucket holding the champagne and appraise the goodies Buffy ordered. There are over two dozen strawberries, some covered in chocolate, some not. The cheese is pretty standard, brie. And the Champagne—well, I don't know labels, so I'll just assume it's good.

Damn, the ice has melted. I place the bottle on the counter and tip the bucket out into the sink. We should have some in the fridge. I pull the freezer compartment open and frown. No ice. Why isn't there an ice maker? Great. Okay, so I think there's one down the hall…?

I turn and make my way to the bedroom. I knock and Buffy's voice answers, "Don't come in here yet." What is she planning? Oh well, wasn't ready anyhow.

"I wasn't. There's no ice. I'm gonna go refill the Champagne bucket."

"Oh…'kay, but hurry up, Will. I'm almost ready," she drawls the last part, teasing me. What's she scheming? Her and scheming are bad. They just shouldn't be done.

Shaking my head, I turn from the door. Grabbing the ice bucket and key card, I make my way out of our suite. I think the ice machine's down at the other end of the hall. Oh for Goddess' sake, there it is again. Okay, so someone's either praying to the gods or there's something up.

Y'know, you try to ignore things and… Nope. Just can't do it. Going towards it anyhow, might as well try and find out why my witchy warning's all twitchy. Getting closer now and—hey, look, ice machine. Go me!

I turn to the door that's hiding the low-level hum I've been feeling since we pulled up in the cab. Okay, so, it's more belting now than humming. I'm closer to the source. It's gonna happen. Should I knock? I raise my hand and stop. Well, fudge…I knew I shouldn't have. I should've kept ignoring. It would've been better.

Oh, great honking Hecate—like I really need to not see the blood on the door. One lousy vacation—just one stinking, lousy time where I don't have to see blood. It's a simple request. Fuck!

Buffy's not gonna be happy. I turn and quickly make my way back to our room. Wasn't I carrying…must have dropped it. I slip the key into the door and make a beeline towards the bedroom, calling for my lover, "Buffy, get decent."

She's out the door in a robe before I have my hand on the handle. Her face is creased with concern and I can only offer her a tight smile. "Will, what's wrong? Ice?" she asks the last part hopefully. It would be cute if it didn't smack you in the face with the feeble.

I shake my head and say, "I'll assume Jimmy's corrupted you enough and you brought your gun and badge. Grab it and put some clothes on."

She scowls and turns back around. I follow her into the bedroom and watch her dress. She says something, but it doesn't register. I'm too busy looking around the room. There are candles everywhere—well, not 'everywhere,' but there's enough and my flowers. She has my favorite flowers spread all over. My chest tightens just a bit as I look at the Lily on the bed. She went to all this trouble. I'm not gonna get weepy. There's no time for it.

"Will, talk to me. What's up?" her voice cuts through the sentimental fuss I'm making.

I shake it off and say, "You were setting all of this up. When did you start?"

She walks over to me and grabs my shoulders. The smile on her face is tender and sad. "Since like forever, but that's not what I asked. We can come back to this. What's going on?" she persists.

I fidget as I sit on the bed. "I, right, so when we pulled up there was some flareage, I felt a magical something. I was gonna ignore it, but when I went to go get the ice, it just got stronger. I figured I was headed there anyhow might as well have a quick look. I didn't go in, but the door that's hiding what's sending my senses in to overtime has some blood on it," I babble out and she nods. Her eyes are kinda sad and she has a half smile on her face that I think's apologetic, or it might be annoyed. I can't really tell right now.

She offers me her hand and I pull myself up from the bed. Her hand feels good in mine. It's the most natural thing—the thing that can center me the quickest. Good, Buffy's here. We're gonna go have a look.

I lead her down the hall and up to the offending door. I just know this isn't gonna be good. The door's shut and the blood peeks out from the frame. It's not a lot. A small smear and if you didn't know what drying blood looks like, you'd pass right by it.

"Do you have anything to cover my hand with?" she asks and I shake my head. Didn't really think I'd need latex gloves on vacation. Sure, we like our little kink, but latex anything…really not my style.

I watch as she uses her t-shirt to cover her hand. The lock is firm, but Buffy—well, she's usually stronger. I listen to the metal groan under the force of her grip and the door pops open. That's my Buffy; she uses her own brand of magic when I could have done it easier. I decide not to point that out right now though. Maybe later.

She goes in first. She always does. And her hand goes up to try and stop me, but I ignore it and walk in. Bad idea. Mistake too.

I'm not sure what causes my stomach to flip flop first. Is it the blood spatter covering the wall and ceiling by the bed? Is it the body flayed open like a cadaver on the slab at the morgue? Or maybe it's the dark magic that assaults me as soon as I cross the threshold? I stumble and grab Buffy's shoulder for support.

Oh, spinning. Never good. Always bad. Even when you're on a carnival ride. Oh, she, it, he, the…it's face down. Why's it face down? And how'd I get so close to the bed? I peer at the corpse for a moment longer and know. It's missing its kidneys. Okay, well, uhm, that's special. I need to get out of here.

Apparently, Buffy feels the same because she's tugging on my arm, dragging me backwards out of the room. Right, she's gonna call it in. Good. The cops need to be here. Not sure if they can help. This isn't a human thing. It's one for the latest creature feature. I think vacation's over.

* * *

What's buzzing? I turn off my cordless Skill saw, remove my blood coated glove and start searching my pockets. I really should've turned my phone off before I started. I look at the display and roll my eyes. Great. Just what I need. I flip it open and bring it to my ear.

Putting on the best supportive voice I can muster, I answer, "Sis, what's up?"

"Where are you?" she growls. Ah that's my sister, she has less social skills than I do and she's the normal one.

"Taking care of some garbage," I answer vaguely, glancing down at the parted, bloody mess of Charles Gilbertson. She doesn't know 'Dexter the Avenger' has struck again. I'm sure I'll get more questions when we can talk privately.

"Fuckin' Christ, Dex. Alright, we need you at a scene, Miami Resort and Spa. Y'know, the one off Collins."

I take a quick glance around my mess and shrug. Guess I'll just have to move quicker than usual. I factor in clean up time and work an estimate out. "It's gonna take me a bit. I can be there in 45 minutes."

I can hear her roll her eyes. "Jesus, Dexter. Fine, but fucking move your ass. It's a fucking bloody mess here." I want to say it's a fucking bloody mess here too, but I resist the urge and keep my mouth shut.

I nod and answer, "I'll be there in a jiff," smiling, even though I know she can't see it.

The line goes dead without any other response from my sibling. Ah Deb. Now she's a character. When Harry and Doris Morgan took me in, they also gave me a younger sister, Debra or Deb.

She's a good sister and a fairly competent cop. Of course, she cusses like a sailor and has a chip on her shoulder the size of Mount Everest. But you win some you lose some, I guess. She started out in Vice. The force seemed to think that her ample chest and long legs would help her in undercover work as a hooker.

She hated it. Her constant bitch was that no one would take her seriously after working Vice. "Dex," she said during her last case for that department, "I need you to get me out of here. I'm the laughing stock of the office."

She was, of course, referring to no one valuing her opinion because she was all tits and ass and no investigative experience. She got switched to homicide when The Ice Truck killings started. She worked the hooker beat when they began. With my help, she was able to latch on and weasel her way out of Vice and into Homicide. The move was good for her. Maybe bad for me, but worth it in the long run.

I shove the last remaining part of Charlie into the doubled garbage bag and make my way to my car.

All cleaned up and ready to go, I place the bags containing my recent indiscretion in the back seat. After covering the bags up with a blanket, I climb into the driver's side. Not going to have anytime to dispose of the 'Rooter That Was' before I get to the hotel. I'm going to have to be careful.

I make my way North, up the ninety-five, towards the heart of Miami. My mind churns as I anticipate the scene waiting for me. I cross over the Julia Tuttle Causeway and turn right onto Collins Avenue, the flashing red and blue lights up ahead my target. I park a block down and fish for my ID. After hanging it around my neck, I grab my kit from the trunk and move towards the hotel.

It's as it usually is when the cops are around and a murder has happened, uniforms quarantine off the area and I pass under the barricade. I show my C.S.U. identification to the young uniform blocking the way into the hotel and he nods, letting me pass through un-accosted.

I look over and see what I assume to be the hotel manager yelling at one of the cops about discretion and how bad this is going to be for business. I smile and go inside.

Tapping a 'uniform' on the shoulder, I ask, "Excuse me, where's the scene?"

"Fourth floor," he replies. His tone is curt and he continues his sentry duty. I nod, smiling my gratitude. I may have to fake my emotions, but sometimes I wonder if others—others that are supposed be 'normal' fake them just like I do.

I step off the elevator and stride down the hall, passing cops as I go. I also wonder why, as the monster in their midst, I'm unnoticed. I work with them day in and day out. My job at the Metro Dade police station as one of the few Blood Spatter Analysts puts me in their presence consistently. They're supposed to be trained to find and convict animals like me. But none, except for one, has ever come close to figuring out what I am. Being 'Debonair Dexter' works well for me.

I see Deb at the entrance to the room I assume holds the body. She looks up, meets my gaze and nods grimly.

"What took you so fucking long?" she asks as I set my case by the side of the door.

I grin up at her and say, "What no _Hello, Dex. How was your evening going_?"

She gives me her characteristic snarky response, "Eat me," and flips me off.

"Deb, not in this lifetime." I flash my teeth and power up my camera. "So, what do we have?"

"Female, between twenty and thirty years old. Masuka's inside finishing everything up. We've been waiting for you to get your fucking ass here. I have two witnesses to interview. I'll catch up with you when I'm done." She shoves me inside the door and disappears.

My first impression of the room is that someone had some fun. The area by the bed is splattered with blood. From floor to ceiling, arcs of arterial blood coat every surface imaginable. I look up and snap off a few pictures of the ceiling. Interesting. Whoever did this didn't care about the mess.

Dexter the Dark's curiosity is piqued when I near the bed. The body hasn't been moved and it's very similar to the body found a few days ago. I think she's missing a different organ, but the M.O.s the same. Maybe I'll get to do some more hunting after all.

"Dexter Fucking Morgan," Vincent Masuka calls out to me. Ah, Vince, my perverted Asian comrade. "Wondering when you were gonna show."

I nod and say, "Vince, would I miss this?"

"Hell no, buddy." He smiles and points to the body. "She's a bit different than the last one, but I think it's the same. The same type of knife was used. Hell of a way to let a pretty piece like that go. Didn't even bang her. Just tied her down and cut her open."

I shake my head at his crass comments. That is the way of Vince though. Part of our beloved C.S.U. team and very much socially inadequate. I have a good hunch he pretends much the same way I do. He's just more geared towards the sexual side of things. Him and Deb always trade inappropriate barbs.

As I snap pictures of the scene, I remark flippantly, "Well, some guys just don't know how to have fun."

He nods and goes back to his examinations. I direct some of the subordinate forensic team members to start collecting samples and make my way out of the room.

This is the second victim with a similar pattern. The first, an unidentified female, was found much the same way as this new body. The first was missing her liver. It seems like someone's collecting parts. Very interesting choice of trophies. They never preserve as well. There's all that mess the formaldehyde causes. My little collection of slides is much less conspicuous. Really, I'm not sure how some killer's get away with it.

If I was ever caught, the only thing that the police would find is a nice, small wooden box, with unmarked, unidentifiable slides of blood drops inside. To date, including the one in my pocket, there are forty-three. They are the only tie-in to my corrupted compulsions.

I approach my sister and Angelo 'Angel' Batista, her partner for the time, as they interview two young women. One has blonde hair falling down between her shoulders and another redheaded woman, her hair shorter, resting just above her shoulders. She's taller than the blonde next to her.

I catch Angel's gaze and nod. He smiles over to me and makes the gesture to wait. Angel, as cops go, is one of my favorites. The closest thing 'Dexter the Dazzling' has to a best friend. He's a good part of my mask—the disguise that's needed to hide my truer self, 'Dexter the Deranged.'

As I stand and listen to the four of them talk, the two young women both look up at the same time and meet my gaze. A chill sweeps up my spine and the closest thing to emotion, provided I could truly feel emotion, drums through me. Their gaze is unwavering as they continue to speak to Deb and Angel.

Curious. Very curious. They don't look at all upset at having walked into a room that held what could be described as the marketing poster for the macabre. They look annoyed that they're still talking to the two nice police officers. Now why would two such seemingly normal looking ladies appear unflustered by a room that was drenched in blood and home to a flayed open body?

The redhead's gaze stirs the beast in the back seat. My other self sniffs and begins a low rumbling chuckle in the back of my mind. Me thinks that I'm going to have to look into these two a bit more. After all, like gravitates to like, and these ladies are calling to me and my Dark Passenger.


	3. They Don't Wear White

**Ch. 3 - …They Don't Wear White**

I swear if I have to listen to this twerp anymore I'm going to toss him out on his ass. He wakes me up. Wakes Will up. I was cocooned in soft redhead and he comes knocking at nine a.m. to apologize for the dead body. Like he did it. Like he could have prevented it. And sure it's sweet that he wants to move us and comp the stay…well comp the stay would be good, but move us? For what?

I roll my eyes and put my hand on his shoulder stopping his nervous babbling. "…Ms. Summers I don't wan…"

"Mr. uhm…" I know he told me his name…

"Cruzado" he supplies kindly.

"Mr. Cruzado, I understand what you're trying to do, but can I maybe step in with a different suggestion." I smile the best smile I have – the one reserved for telling people their loved ones are dead – and continue, "My partner and I don't want to move. We're comfortable here. But, if you'd like, in exchange for not suing you, you can comp our stay." I know my grin now resembles a shark about ready to feed, but hey, it's a free room.

If Will had any idea what this vacation was setting us back, she'd have kittens. Maybe puppies too. I couldn't pass it up though. It's not only one of the top rated hotels in Miami. It's on the beach too. This is a special vacation. So no expense was spared.

He cocks his head to the side. I'm pretty sure he's confused. He's got the classic confused look. "So," he stutters, "sso, you don't want to move, you won't sue us and all you want is us to comp the stay?" he finishes off with a bit of wonder in his voice.

I suppress the laugh and urge to dance around in glee. Instead I shrug. "That seems fair."

The funny – I hear his heart slow down and his breathing regulate. He wipes the nervous sweat from his brow and starts, "I – I think that can be arranged. I'll just need you and your…"

"Girlfriend works."

He nods. "Girlfriend to sign a small waiver before you leave."

I pause and pretend to think it over. "Sure, why not."

"Well, uhm, well, then I'll make sure that everything is arranged and leave you and your partner to enjoy the rest of your stay." He hands me his card before turning to the door and says, "If you should need anything at all, please call or show that to the associate at the front desk." He flashes what I'm sure cost him thousands in pearly whites and leaves.

Thank God!

I look down at the card and toss it on the kitchen counter. Free room. Free room! Oh, wow! Will's gonna be so happy. It should make the day a bit better. After the gruesome that was last night, good news will do my doctor good.

It was – last night was just weird. I mean, not new, hey slayer and cop, but it was different. Then with everything else Will was wiggin' about one of the CSU's. Said he was giving her funny looks. I'm blowing it off. I told her maybe he just thought she was hot. I mean she is hot, I think so, and well, Willow's never been good at noticing when someone's interested in her.

We left the scene early because of him. The bottle of Champagne later, some blissful naughtiness and the ugly was forgotten. Until today. Gonna hafta call the gang and let them know. Whatever killed that girl wasn't human. I could feel the presence once I walked in. Will musta been on overload. I think maybe vacation's gonna be cut short.

I enter our bedroom and look to the lump under the covers. Dropping my robe to the floor, I crawl back into bed and mold myself against Willow's backside. She stirs and asks, "What was that all about?"

"The General Manager wanted to apologize for the dead body," I whisper in her ear.

"Ah, anything else?"

I kiss her shoulder and back up to her ear mumbling, "We now get to stay here for free."

"Uh?"

"He was afraid we'd sue. So, in exchange for not suing, he's comping our stay."

She turns facing me, confusion clearly written on her features, "Uh, again."

I kiss the tip of her nose and smirk.

"Buffy…" she warns. Crap. Why does she gotta look at me like that?

I roll my eyes, "Seriously Will. He was all nervous. I guess there've been threats. Since we found the body, he wanted to take care of us first. No big. Just free stuff."

"Really?"

"Really, really." I smile reassuringly and continue, "So, what are we gonna do about the body?" I know I shouldn't be asking this, but it needs to be addressed.

Crinkling her nose she ponders the question and I kiss her forehead. She's too cute when her face goes all scrunchy. "I don't know. Proly call Dawnie and see if we can get her to send us any information?"

I nod and bury my head in her shoulder. Going on a Scooby expedition wasn't something planned for this trip. For the rest of my life really. The things I did plan got cocked up last night.

Cocked up? When did I get British?

Anyhow, last night was supposed to be special. It was, in the gory, dead things way. But not in the "Will, I wanna do a 'commitment' type thing. Here's the paperwork for a legally binding domestic partnership. 'Wanna get hitched'? type way" I planned. The candles, the flowers, the food, and drink. The paperwork's in my bag. Asking was going to happen last night. Pop THE Question. Instead I get death and missing organs.

Figures.

Now I have to plan the whole thing again. Stupid demons. And it was a demon. I know it. And the major suck: Will and I are gonna hafta do the hunting. Not like we can just let it go.

I continue to melt into the mattress and Willow. This is the place. Excellent, nice, warm, soft…OW! What the…? Did she just ram her finger in my side? I look up at my witch and scowl. I know my scowl has questions, like what was that for and why so hard?

"Buffy, you're phone," she says, frowning at me.

Oh. I reach behind me and pick up the stupid thing. The display reads a New York exchange. "Yeah," I answer

"Cupcake, that you?" Jimmy's voice comes through.

"Nope, Jamie Lee Curtis." I smile. He's got a thing for her and teasing him about its just fun.

"Kiddo…" he growls.

"Yes," I sing song and wait.

"What's goin' on? How's the vacation? Did you ask?" his voice drops on the last question. I resist the urge to snark and remind myself that she can't hear him. I don't. I'm nice.

While planning the vacation, I let Jimmy in on the what and the why. In fact, he did a lot of the leg work and helped get me the paperwork. He was so excited when I told him. He started to plan a reception even before I did.

"Well, things were going great up until last night." I leave him with the cryptic. He knew when I was gonna ask.

"She didn't. I mean, seriously. Cupcake, what'd she say?" his tone's wicked worried.

I stop stringing him along. "Didn't. There was an interruption. Will found a dead body." I look over to Willow as she moves. She mouths the word 'shower' and I nod. "Jimmy, hang on." I give her a kiss and watch her pad naked into the bathroom.

"I'm done hangin', Cupcake. What do you mean Red found a dead body?" his annoyance at being put on hold apparent.

So I start to explain. I give him enough details and I know he's writing this down. I can pretty much guarantee I'll have a copy of the police reports before the end of the day.

* * *

I walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and look over to Buffy. She's still on the phone, but now there are some papers spread out in front of her on the bed. The phone's jammed between her shoulder and ear and she's looking over…they look like fax papers. Jimmy.

Of course he would, those two together are worse than Starsky and Hutch. I think they also have a better solve rate. He probably got hold of the police reports which is a good. We're gonna need them.

Slipping a tank top over my head to complete my outfit, I turn back to the bed. Looks like Buffy chose something similar. She's got shorts and a tank top on and the shorts give you a nice view of her legs.

She looks over at me and mouths 'sorry'. Her eyes tell a different story. I roll my eyes, smile, lean down and kiss her on top of her head. Mouthing the words 'Dawn' and 'info', I grab my cell and head for the kitchen.

I know this sounds bad. But, I mean, I was really hoping to get away from the dead things. Even ya know, with the lack of Scoobiage, there's still dead things. That's what Buffy deals with daily. I'm going to be looking at them daily soon enough. I just, gosh darn it; I just wanted some time away from the killing. Human or non-human.

Silly to ask for given the running scorecard of my life, but it…it just wasn't supposed to happen. I'm sure if I tried really hard I could remember all of the dead people and things that I've seen. Don't want to. I also know that if I did, I've seen more than nintey-nine point eight percent of the population. It was apparently too much to ask for a few weeks without.

Shifting on the kitchen island stool, I wait for Dawn to pick up. It's not late enough for her to be asleep. Hopefully.

"Hello?" Dawn's voice is rushed as she answers.

"Dawnie."

"Willow!" she takes on an excited tone and I hear her talk to someone in the background, "excuse me for a minute. It's my…uh, it's my sister type person."

I shake my head and wait for her to get some place more private. The background noise lessens and I hear a toilet flush. Thanks Dawn. Bathroom talk is just what I need. Criminey.

"Will, how's it going? What's going on? Vacation? I thought you guys were supposed to be spending a month in Miami?" Her rapid fire questions punctuated with a stall door slamming in the background.

"I'm the babbler of the family Dawn, give it back," I joke and can nearly hear the smile.

"You are, but…uhm, any news you want to tell me?" she asks really hopeful and it causes me to pause. What news would I have to tell her? Does she know? Who told her?

"I was calling for help. Is there news _I_ need to know?"

"Nope," she quickly answers. "You need help. What can I do?" Why does she sound…she - worry about it later. Demon, dead things, missing organs.

"Buffy and I found a dead girl last night. Demon related and I need some info since I'm sans books." I go over the details of what I remember and enough for her to go on for now. She 'hmms' and asks questions during my explanation.

"I think I have everything. Call me if you get more info." She pauses like she wants to say something. It's one of those pregnant silences that begin to turn uncomfortable. She salvages it by saying, "If you, uhm, if this is going to ruin anything, why don't I send a team down there? There's a group in Myrtle Beach that's stationed permanently, they could take care of this."

"That's sweet, but we've already met the local cops. I think it'd just be easier for us to handle it from here."

"I gotcha. Uhm, so how is everything else going?"

"Great up until last night. The beaches are nice. The people are, uhm, well; I think I prefer New Yorkers actually. But, oh, Dawn, we need to come here together, there's this restaurant that I took Buffy to last night, and it's…the desert is this chocolate fountain type thing. So tasty."

"You said the magic words, chocolate and fountain. Anything else? How's Buffy? You two are…?"

Okay, uh, this is … "No, nothing else, you're sister's good and we're good." There's something she's not telling me. I just know it. She's also worse at keeping secrets than me. Let's see if I can put two and two together, she sounds slightly worried, consistently asking for more news other than the dead stuff, what is she trying not to say? Darn it, I know I'm missing something. "You wanna talk to Buffy?"

"Yeah," she sounds relieved. I walk into the bedroom just as she is walking towards the door.

"It's Dawn," I say handing her the phone.

She laughs and hands me hers, "Jimmy wants to talk to you."

Sometimes it's just scary weird. "Hi, Jimmy." I smile into the phone.

"Red, I'm not gonna let you leave the state of New York if this keeps up."

"Hey, it's not my fault," I pout.

"I know Red. How is everything else?"

"It's good. Or it was. If we can get this figured before the end of the week, I'll be lots happier."

"I get that kid, I told your old lady that if you two want, I'll take a leave and come down to help out. Just let me know."

"Jimmy, it's not, we'll be fine. One little demon won't hurt us. Besides didn't you tell me you hated Miami?"

"I did, but I can make exceptions."

Where'd Buffy go? I look towards the bathroom door and its shut. Hmm… "We'll be fine. How are you?"

"Okay, I can't cook to save my Irish ass and Vice is worse than foot work." I lounge on the bed careful not to disturb some of the papers lying on top of the covers. "I got pulled into this small Sting OP for Friday night. Let's just say it went to shit faster than it takes Cupcake to eat a slice of pizza."

"You're not…? They didn't get you hurt?" They get him damaged before we get back Buffy's gonna kill, well, okay not kill, but she'll hurt I know that much.

"Nah, I'm good. Only a little nick."

"Jimmy…"

"A nick, a scratch. That's all. No bullet holes or heart attacks or knife wounds. Oh, and you two'd be so proud, one of the ladies on the team wants to have dinner with me."

I gape. "You and a date?"

He laughs and says, "Yeah, the old fart's gotta date. Don't tell Buffy though, she'll make me wait till yinz get back."

I nod knowingly. The last date he had, Buffy insisted that she meet her prior to Jimmy taking her out. She was insistent to check for the possibility of evilness. "I won't say a word, but she's human right? Non-evil human?"

"Non-evil human. Yeah, I asked your questions."

"Oh goody, then you're gonna have to tell me how it went."

I hear someone in the background call his name and know what's coming. "Heya Red, I gotta motor. Tell Cupcake I said bye."

"Will do. Jimmy, wait! Be careful please?" I hope my tone conveys my message. While it's not like I distrust everyone else, I also know that Buffy, she takes care of her people. She takes care of her people lots better than anyone else would take care of them. If something happened to him, well, I'm not sure how either of us would deal.

The smile he wears comes through as he says, "I'm good kiddo, I've got a few people to watch my six until the blonde one comes back. You be careful too, okay?"

"Promise. Love you, Jimmy."

I hear a voice boom in the background, "Jimmy if that's one of your girlfriends tell her she can talk dirty to you later. Move!" Jimmy tries to cover the receiver with his hand and yells back, "Hey Copowski, blow it the fuck out your ass. I'll be there in a minute!"

"Red, I gotta…ditto on the last part. Take care of short stuff," he says then the line goes dead.

For some reason, I'm missing New York.

* * *

Now you should be able to type any blood given a large enough sample. So why is it that I've got a fair sample amount, but am unable to type it? Three hours sitting here sorting through the blood from the hotel and 'Dogged Dexter' is about ready to throw in the towel. I push back from my lab table and rub my eyes. The samples that were collected were done so properly.

I checked everything three times for contamination and still, I come up empty handed. Pressing my index finger and thumb to my eyes, I try and regroup. It's been an interesting morning and it seems to want to continue.

After I left the scene last night, I was almost distracted enough by the two witnesses that I nearly forgot about my parted plumber in the back seat. By the time I got home, the sun was coming up and I needed to get to work. It was, after all, my turn to bring the doughnuts. As soon as I stepped into the office, Deb grabbed me and dragged me to Lieutenant Pascal's task force meeting on the new body. Metro Dade's had a rash of serial killers so she was taking this very seriously.

The meeting boiled down to nothing. They didn't know anything and they weren't coming up with anything. The first victim couldn't be identified and the second one hasn't made it through the system far enough. I yawned and faked interest for the hour Deb kept me there.

After the task force, I went back to my lab and now here I am, stuck. Rolling over to my desk I look over the notes Deb gave me. We talked a little about the witnesses. A Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg. The interesting part is that they are on vacation and Buffy herself is a Detective for the N.Y.P.D.

While that could explain some of the detachment I witnessed last night, the tickle in the back of my mind thinks otherwise. I look over what Deb gave me for Willow and there's nothing unusual about it. Contact information.

Let's refocus, I have two different blood samples and one I can't type. This is going to be a challenge. If I didn't know better, I would say it wasn't human. Now Dexter, let's be serious. While there are monsters around, there aren't real monsters. Aliens perhaps?

Yes, I can see it now. Lt. Pascal I've got your killer. It's an alien from Alpha Centauri come to collect vital organs from human beings. It may just be worth it for the look. Maybe it's just a corrupted sample. In that case, I'm required to go and collect more samples.

I perk up at the thought. Now, that might hold some potential. But before 'Dedicated Dexter' decides to go to the hotel, let's see if 'Dexter Determined' can find out anything about the two ladies that have stirred 'The Dark One.'

Powering up my machine, I begin my search. The information is fairly standard as I begin. Detective Summers is quite the decorated officer. Impressive even by my standards. She and Ms. Rosenberg own a house together. So then I will assume that they are more than just friends enjoying the toned tummy's that Miami Beach has to offer. Explains the close proximity.

Sunnydale, California…well, now that's…what happened to that town? Ah yes, fault line caused it to become a hole. As I understand it now, the government is using it as a landfill. They were both residents of.

Yes, now this is more like it. I glance up at the clock and realize that it's taken me longer to dig than what I had anticipated. Their records were buried pretty thoroughly. I hit print and let the computer print out arrest records on Buffy Summers. Willow Rosenberg didn't have near as much in her files, but her association with the good officer is enough for me.

'Buffy the Teen' was wanted under suspicion for three murders and cleared each time. Willow was questioned all three times and she even has a few disparaging remarks and inquires regarding her use of computers. These two aren't as clean as they appear. My obedient beast snickers and urges me to look closer. He is rarely ever wrong when it comes to these matters.

But what do I know and what is it that I'm suspecting them of? So they may just be fiends like me. They don't live and prey in my area. They live elsewhere. What would it matter? I try to convince myself that it doesn't. That I shouldn't concern myself. But last night. It sits like a weight and I know I have to. If they are, then they might be involved in what is happening with these other ladies.

I look at the note pad and realize that the times line up well. They arrived in Miami the day before the first victim was found. The second victim they found. They didn't act right at the scene. If it were possible to spook me, I think Willow did.

Is that what this is? Am I getting carried away because I, 'Dispassionate Dexter', felt a stirring, a challenge as the redhead met my gaze? Why?

I knew, I don't want to know, but I do know. I've been challenged once before. The Ice Truck Killer. He was – it started with a hooker. They found her chopped up and bloodless. That's what started it. No blood. While I do what I do, I have a thing with blood. I hate it. And the Ice Truck Killer, Brian Moser, used it against me. He challenged me and in the end, I found out why.

He caused me to go on an excursion to the dark depths of Dexter's past. I found out what happened to my mother. I found out why I am the way I am.

You see, 'Dearest Dexter' at the tender age of three was forced to watch a man take a chainsaw to his mother. I was found in a shipment container sitting in a pool of my mother's blood. Harry found me. Harry adopted me. It was at the tender age of three, 'Demon Dexter' was born.

What I didn't know was that I had a brother and Brian Moser was it. My biological brother. My heart soared with the knowledge when I found out. Someone like me. Someone I could share my evil escapades with. He understood and oh, how I needed that understanding.

He challenged me to find everything out. In the end, he pushed too far. He kidnapped Debra. His gift to me was to be her death. He wanted us to kill her together. While I don't love Debra, I do feel affection for her. She's the last true tie to Harry that I have. She is my sister even if we are not bound by blood.

In the end, it was Brian who fell under my knife and my truer self was exposed to my pseudo-sibling. Deb found out just how dark her beloved brother was. The fall out was – it was unpleasant, but she finally understood. We don't talk of it much. But she knows and just her knowing has lifted a weight from my shoulders I didn't know existed.

Brian freed me. That's what he wanted. At least that's what he said he wanted. He wanted me to be me. He gave me that gift by allowing me to expose myself to Deb.

Although, I don't think that's what he had in mind when I slit his throat.

Rolling away from my desk, I go back to my lab table and pull one last smear from the sample I can't type. Let's look at you one last time before I head over to the hotel. Maybe the tenth time's the charm.

My brother, Biny is what I called him when we were little, was the last person to challenge me. And with these two women, I feel it again. There's a stirring and it's an irrational notion if ever I've had one. It's there though. And I'm compelled. One might even call it primal.


	4. Looking Pious & Pure

**Ch. 4 – Looking Pious & Pure**

A strong, ocean breeze blows through the open sliding glass door causing the curtains to billow and the papers strewn around the living room to flutter. My hand shoots out reflexively and stops a stack from scattering. The living room coffee table looks nearly as bad as my desk back at the precinct. It's the way things go though. Death waits for no man or er, uh, woman in this case.

Willow barely notices the wind's attempt at disorganizing our disorganization. Her head's practically attached to her computer. Just as well. This murder or murders, as we've found, has kinda dampened the whole 'vacation' thing we have going on.

We did get some shopping in. We had to. Neither of us brought much in the way of slaying type clothes. Truthfully, I think Will just wants to see how many skirts she can get me into. She has this thing with them. It's not a bad. Just means I get to shop. Can't complain.

I look over the reports from the first victim. Jimmy faxed them over the other day when I first told him and he's sending everything that he can get. I've got Autopsy, Toxicology, Blood Spatter Analysis and affidavits for the witnesses. The first vic hasn't been identified and from all the reading, no one will be able to.

Will and I are looking at local demon haunts. And surprisingly enough, the demon population down here is pretty integrated. As much as any demons can be. It's a good. Of course it also means that if it's a local demon, no one'll spill the beans about what's doing this. The most I hope for is the fear of having a slayer in the area.

Last night should be enough to spark some rumblings. Hopefully. It was…uhm…interesting enough. Will and I started out towards the south end of Miami and ended up working our way north. The last place we visited had no name on the outside. My guess: if you didn't know what it is or hadn't been there, you wouldn't go in anyhow.

The bartender was less than helpful, but what really sucks was a small group of vamps that thought they were actually going to take me. Now, sure, I know this sounds cocky, but I have a right for the cock…uhm, I … ya know, there's no way I'm salvaging this. Moving along now.

They start in on me. "Big bad slayer. Think you can come in here and start stirring up trouble." I would also like to add, vamps with Spanish or Islander accents – too funny. He carries on like that for a few. I let them blow hot air. They don't know who I am. Well, one of 'em started mentioning me by name.

Plane tickets – two grand. Cab fare – fifteen bucks. The looks on their faces when I flash my ID – priceless.

Of course you think it'd be enough. That they'd firm up. That a case of the stupids wouldn't happen. Not so much. They attack. Dumb. Dumber considering Willow's behind me and laughing at them. We walked out of the bar right after it caught fire. Didn't need to stick around for _that_ headache.

I haven't burnt anything down in a while. Does it make me a socio if I say it felt good?

Probably, but I'll deal.

I tear my gaze away from the reports and search through the papers looking for something a little more visual. Ah, autopsy photos. They're grainy, but they do okay. Faxes just aren't that good for picture quality. I study a shape of something resting on the gray steel slab of an autopsy bench. The footnote says it's the excised skin that was left on the floor.

Yep, this is my life. Just can't have enough excised skin…gross. The skin's clean, dry and lays out nice and flat so you can get a solid look at it. Turning my head to the side, I look at it cockeyed and frown.

It looks like a rough triangle and the angle of the photo is skewed. I twist the photo so the point of the triangle is facing up. Weird. It kinda looks…well, it looks like a bunch of scratch marks. We call them hesitation cuts. For some reason, my tinglies kick in and I'm not sold on the idea.

The wounds in the skin are rough and shoddy. If I didn't know any better it looks like they tried to cut into the skin with a really dull knife. The flesh around the laceration's jagged and frayed. I search for the coroner's report and come to hi - I look at the name of the M.E. – his description on the photo.

'Blah, blah, blah, serrated edge used for the excision.' Bingo. 'Kay is that all? I turn to the next page and what…? Rolling my eyes, I turn frustrated to the other autopsy report, hoping to find something useful.

"Buff?" Willow questions. I look up and meet her gaze. She knows I've found something. Well a maybe-something.

"Think I got – these look strange to me. I'm just checkin' something," I chirp and go back to a stack of fax papers.

"Wanna share?"

"Will if it's something, Will." I grin back up at her and she rolls her eyes at me before going back to her computer screen.

I find the document I'm looking for and flip through the back to the photos. There it is. All grainy in black and white, but I tilt the page and it jumps out at me. Both vics were carved and marked before they were killed. Go me, go Buffy!

"Hey Will…" I look up at her and wink.

She puts her laptop on the coffee table and comes over to the couch. I hand her both photos and tilt them so she can see what I'm looking at. Her head goes to the side and her face scrunches. Too cute for words. I need a photo of her like that. Just like that. I'd replace the one I have on my desk at work for a picture of her like this.

"Hey, those…" Her scowl deepens as she reaches for her laptop. I direct my gaze back to the photos. It's hard to see. But if you squint, you can make out what the lines are. A primary line runs the length of the excision. The top part of the line has…okay the best I can get is two pac-mans lying over the top. The center has a single slash mark bisecting the line. The bottom…it's uh, an 'X' over top the primary line.

Will types away on her computer and I see she's sending an email to Dawn. "Buff, can you grab me my phone please?" I nod and go to the kitchen counter. I bring back her phone and she switches the thing over to camera mode.

Nothing is safe anymore. Technology's taken away all excuse for ignorance. You want the knowledge. It's out there if you know where to look. She snaps a few pictures of the faxes and sends them out.

Setting the laptop back on the coffee table, she grins at me. "I think they might be something. Dawn'll let us know soon."

"No clue on the what?" I ask.

"I- they could be runes. Used for a spell. It would make sense. Could be a calling card."

"Or it could be tic-tac-toe and we're barking up the wrong tree?"

She blushes and nods. Well at least it might be something. It'd help lots, if it was something.

"So," I say getting up and clearing up some of the paperwork, "What do we do now?"

She leans back on the couch and shrugs.

"Beach?" Oh please, oh please let it be break time. I see her mind run over the possibilities and then she nods. Yes!

I extend my hand to her and we go back to the bedroom. Behind me she asks, "Are you gonna try wearing the two piece you bought yesterday?" The hope in her voice makes me smile.

I turn back to her and shrug. She steps up to me and pulls my tank top off. Her hands slide down my ribs and over my stomach. Goosebumps follow her every touch. She leans in and captures my lips. It's hungry and warm and soft and makes me love her just a little more. And I think the beach's gonna wait.

Her mouth moves from mine and her lips blaze a trail down my neck and chest. She drops to her knees and begins a more thorough exploration of my body paying careful attention to the main scar that prompts her need to reassure. I know she worries about them. She doesn't want them to affect me. I get it. It's just that they aren't very nice. My pants go and she nips my side causing my knees to shake. For balance, my hands wrap themselves in her hair. I get it, Will.

* * *

Sweaty's usually bad. I mean it makes you sticky and kinda stinky. Usually when I get sweaty it's 'cause I'm running, nervous or scared. All of them not very good. Nope. But, sometimes, sweaty is a good. Like right now. I'm sticky, tired and sweaty. All of it though's 'cause of Buffy, so ya know, she can make me sweaty as much as she wants.

It's nice. The covers rest at the end of the bed and we're both all snuggly. The smell in the air is familiar and comforting. It smells like us. If I could find a way to bottle it, I would. Instead I just gotta live with trying to make the smell as much as possible. It's a burden I'll bear.

I look down at Buffy who's resting contentedly in the crook of my left arm. Her hair kinda tickles, but I'll deal rather than move it. She's peaceful and with everything, well, these moments are the few peaceful one's she gets. I know she loves her job. You can tell, but it's hard. I know it. I can feel it.

Sometimes I find her at night on top of our roof. I don't know what she does up there. I just know that when she wants to think or get away for a few minutes, that's where she goes. It's also when her eyes get the saddest. If I go and get her from up there, I see her weight. It's different – not the weight of the world, not like it was in Sunnydale or when I first came. Jimmy gets it too. It's their own thing. Which I get. Which I thank Jimmy for. He helps her when I can't.

I know that I'll probably never 'get' her job. I won't get the things she sees on the daily. That's okay. She has Jimmy for that and well, I've never quite figured out how to thank him. I run my hands over her arm. I play with her fingers and she barely stirs. Her like this with me is…heaven.

Of course it would be nice if we were left alone. The buzzer on the phone rings and I scowl over at the device. Hey, I was woolgathering here. Have some respect. I reach for the receiver and try for chipper, "Hello?"

"Hi, can I talk to Buffy Summers or Willow Rosenberg?" the female voice asks.

"This is Willow. How can I help you?" Sounds like a cop. Probably is.

"This is Detective Morgan. I was hoping I could swing by in a few minutes and follow up with you and your partner?"

Might as well get it out of the way. Means I'm gonna hafta wake Buffy. Poop. "Yeah, uh, sure."

"Great. I'll be up shortly," she sounds way too happy. Up? Up where?

Up here! No, not good. Research. Confidential police reports that she doesn't know that we have. "Uhm, wait, Detective, can we, uh, meet in the lobby?" Great Willow, sound fishy. Just what you and Buffy need.

"That's fine." If I try, I can probably here her cop radar going beep. I won't.

"Great. Just have the front desk ring us when you're here." If I could smack myself in the head right now, I would.

"I will. Thanks Ms. Rosenberg." The line goes dead and I scowl at the receiver in front of me. Ms. Rosenberg? Why does that make me feel old?

Placing the phone back down, I nudge Buffy awake. "Hey sleepy, we need to get up. Fast."

She rubs her eyes and blinks up at me. Ah, sleepy Buffy. It's all sorts of cute. Of course the question's written all over her face. I lean down and kiss the wrinkles away. "That was Detective Morgan. She wants to meet for a follow up. We need to meet her down stairs."

The information registers and she nods. "Shower?" she asks with the smallest amount of hope.

I shake my head. "She said a few minutes." I get up and start to dress. I look at the floor for my discarded bra and pick up…nope that's Buffy's. I toss her bra on the bed and go back to searching for mine. Aha!

By the time I'm dressed, Buffy's already in the bathroom. How she does that I don't know. On a good day, it takes me forty-five minutes to get ready. For her, it's like fifteen tops. And she manages to look good every single time. It's not fair.

The phone rings as I spit the last bit of toothpaste from my mouth and I hear Buffy pick up. She's here. Buffy drags me from the bathroom, to the living room for shoes and out the door. One day I'll get her to be more patient. Not today, but it'll happen.

Our reflection slides away as the elevator doors open. Buffy and I walk out of the elevator into the lobby hand in hand. I recognize Detective Morgan immediately and cringe as I see the tall, redheaded man behind her. I didn't catch his name last night. I just know that he's with their Forensics division. What's he doing here?

Buffy squeezes my hand and then let's go to extend a handshake to the officer.

"Ms. Summers, Ms. Rosenberg." She nods greeting us.

Buffy takes her outstretched hand and I see the small wince pass over the Detective's face. Buffy…

"Actually," my lover chirps, "It's Detective and Doctor, but Buffy and Willow will do just fine."

"Sorry," she says pulling her hand away, "This is my brother, Dexter, he's with C.S.U.. If we're gonna go by first names, then call me Deb."

I watch Dexter step forward and take his outstretched hand in greeting, "Hi," he smiles, saying, "Nice to meet you. I saw you at the scene last night, but didn't get a chance to introduce myself."

He still kinda wigs me out and I don't know why. He's all smiles and really nice. Maybe I was just creeped last night. "Nice to meet you too."

"Hi Buffy, nice to meet you. So do members of your forensics team usually come on follow ups?" Buffy asks shaking his hand.

I watch Dexter's face light up and he says, "Not usually. It's the Morgan version of family bonding. Our family's full of cops. Our dad was one, Debs followed in his footsteps and I work with them."

I nod and Buffy says, "Cool. The more the merrier, I suppose." I look down at her stomach as it growls. Well at least I know where we're going to be talking. "Uh, would you two mind if we took this to the restaurant? I haven't eaten yet." She offers an apologetic smile.

They look at each other and shrug. To the restaurant we go. Getting a table's easy and as we sit down, I take in the silent communication between brother and sister. Still weird that he's here. Guess if he works for the department it's fine.

The waiter comes and we all place our drink orders. Deb looks through her note pad and starts in, "So last night, you two, well you, Willow, said that you were going to grab some ice. Saw the blood on the door and then…?"

She trails off expecting me to finish and I do. It's not like the story's gonna change. "I noticed the smear on the door. So I went back and got Buffy. The door handle was already messed up so she pushed the door open and we saw. We left. We called nine-one-one."

She nods and looks back down at her notes. Does she think that we're lying? What's there to lie about?

Well, the lock on the door, but…

"And Buffy, you were where?" she asks looking up.

"I was actually in our suite. Will left. Mentioned ice. She came back a few minutes later and told me what she found. We went. We saw. We called."

"Nothing else out of the ordinary?"

I can't help the short hard laugh that bubbles forth. For that I get a small glare from Buffy and curious looks from the other two. Trying to play it off, even if it's not gonna help, I explain, "Well, flayed bodies that are missing organs aren't really ordinary. Just…" The heat flames my cheeks and I resist the urge to sink down in my seat.

And suddenly the tension at the table breaks. Everyone starts laughing and I calm down. Deb nods and Dexter continues to laugh. Well it helped at least.

"True. It's not really normal or ordinary." A wry look crosses over his face and the left corner of his mouth turns up just a hair. "What I wanted to ask was about the amount of blood and the little to no tracking at the scene. For it not to get tracked was odd. Did you notice anything?"

I shake my head and turn to Buffy. "I know," she says, "That's what sorta bugged to. But I'm on vacation and this is your guys' puppy. We just got the short end and found her."

"It is rather ironic. You ladies come all the way down here and end up working or at least you do, Buffy." Dexter turns me and asks, "What kind of medicine do you practice?"

"I, uh, just got done with med school. My residency ended in June."

"Well congratulations. So you two are here to celebrate?" he asks. It feels like he's fishing, but not. His eyes say genuine curiosity so I indulge.

"Pretty much. A month off at the beach sounded good."

"Miami's the place for it. If you have the chance, there are some really nice places to go out at night. Clubs and a few restaurants that I could recommend."

"Sure," Buffy jumps in. She's been dying to check out more of the 'locals' scene. "Recommend away. The concierge recommended a few places, but they had tourist trap written all over them."

"Deb, paper?" he asks, before plucking her pad and pen from her hand. Her scowl says volumes and I resist the urge to laugh.

"So how long have you worked for the N.Y.P.D.?" Deb asks Buffy. Ah, professional curiosity. I was wondering how long that was going to take.

Buffy, as she usually does when talking about work, smirks, "For about five years now. You?"

"Four going on five here at the end of the year," Deb commiserates.

Dexter rips a piece of paper off the pad and hands it over to me. "I think that's all the best places. If you guys like Cuban food, go to Rodrigo's. They're Mojo Chicken with black beans is the best in Miami."

The waiter brings our drinks and the conversation devolves into Buffy and Deb talking about work and Dexter and I discussing food. Not sure that's how I pictured this going, but I'll take it.

* * *

I check my seat belt for the fifth time since we left the hotel. While Deb can drive, well even, she tends to bring out my survival skills. And to add to my unease, she's got her phone jammed between her ear and shoulder, using her only free hand to concentrate on finding a radio station.

A few more moments of this and she slips the phone into her lap. "Angel says we got the post on vic. number two. You want me to drop you off where?" Her hand finally stops with the radio and settles on an alternative station.

"Station, please. My car's there. I need to leave a bit early and pick up Astor and Cody. What are you going to do for the rest of the day?"

She glances over at me and shrugs. "Angel and I are going to be looking at security camera feeds. Go over a few of the reports. Whoever's doing this shit is a sick fuck. Did you get a look at the skin that was removed? Sick shit, Dex," she stops and realizes what she's saying.

I'm sure my face shows surprise as she asks, "So last night, you were…?"

She looks nervous and I understand that. To her, it's not normal, but justifiable. "I was taking care of the missing house wives. I found the person. I stopped them."

Her mouth pinches and she nods. I know her. She's thinking, running that through and…here it is, "Dex, have you ever tried not to? I mean fuck, it's like, I mean can you try not to?"

"Yes and it doesn't work." It's the only thing I can offer her. It's what I have. When she found out, I laid everything bare for her. I explained what Harry and I did. The reasons why she was never allowed on any of our hunting trips. She now knows why.

My answer only gets her to bob her head more. "Then today…why'd you wanna come along?"

Ah, yes. I knew this was coming. The question I haven't answered is how honest does Dexter want to be. Not very, right now. I need more. The meeting with them today was good. They're quite the charming couple. In fact I found that I enjoy their company. In another life, perhaps we could be friends. But, now, I'm just more curious.

I flash my sister a winning smile. "No, I just wanted to tag along. We haven't spent a lot of time together lately and it seemed like it would be fun."

The office comes into view and I give an internal sigh. I'll be able to avoid my sister's questions just a bit longer.

The car pulls into an empty space and she throws it into park. We get out and she looks over to me before heading up the steps to the entrance. "Dex, don't fuckin' pull my chain on this. If it's something, I need to know. I may not fuckin' like it or agree, but we're family. I need to be able to trust you."

My hand goes to my forehead and shields the sunlight hitting me in the face. I gaze up at her and grin. "I know, sis. I'm not and you can. Have I ever let you down?" I know the answer and she does as well. It's why she nods at me sort of smiling. I stop her chance of talking and say, "If you guys come up with anything tonight, call me. I'll be at Rita's."

She agrees, and turns walking into the station. Fishing my car keys out of my pocket, I turn in the opposite direction. I glance down at my watch and notice I've just enough time to make it to the school.

I jog my way over to my trusty Ford Taurus, get in and fire her up. I hate making the kids wait. I slip into traffic and feel a little tickle in the back of my mind. I know what he's thinking. It's the same thing I am. When did Dexter's life take such a turn that he has to worry about picking children up from school?

I will admit to always having a soft spot for children, but there's always been something more between my girlfr…my fiancé's children and I. They are just as damaged as I was at their age and the recent development in our relationship has further deepened the bond. Who knew 'Dexter the Damned' would be a softy for the young?

When I come upon a shark in my waters and I know said shark's prey is for the young, it makes it doubly satisfying. The school is just letting out as I pull up to the curb. I switch the engine off and go stand next to the car. This isn't part of my regular routine, but their babysitter wasn't able to sit today. In comes 'Daddy Dexter' to the rescue.

Cody is the first one I see and I wave. He gives a small wave and comes to stand next to me. Smiling down at him, I ask, "Hello, young knight. How was the battle today?"

He shrug's non-committaly. It's what I expect. He doesn't say much. Never has. Recently, when you get him at the right moments he will talk. It will be less than ten words strung together, but we are making progress.

"Astor!" he yells and waves his hands to get his sister's attention. "Over here."

Astor looks in our direction and skips over to the car. She peers up at me and smiles, "Hi, Dexter."

"Hello, my lady." I usher them into the back seat and close the door. As I step in, I check my rearview mirror to make sure their seatbelts are secure. "Shall we be off?"

"Yeah! School was fun today, but I'm ready for home," Astor speaks on her and her brother's behalf. She is his great protector.

"Then off we shall go." I signal and turn into the flow of traffic. I glance back and they are going over something that Cody drew today.

Let's see Rita won't be home for another hour. What to do? Park? Ice cream? "What say you young ones about ice cream?" I look over my shoulder and see their faces light up.

But Astor's falls quickly. "What about dinner?" she asks.

"Well, we could go to the store and pick some up for desert if you don't want to spoil dinner. But I don't' think an ice cream cone will."

She gnaws on her lower lip contemplating my suggestion. She looks to Cody and they communicate in their silent way. "Can we share one?"

"Of course! And we'll pick some up for desert after our most proper meal with your mother." I smile back at them and head towards the store. 'Dexter Domestic' strikes again.

The store's vast selection of ice cream is impressive. Who knew they made pineapple sherbet? I look down the aisle to where Astor and Cody are contemplating their afternoon snack. I try to remember how 'Dexter the Demented' got to become 'Dexter the Dad'.

It was supposed to be simple. Deb introduces to me to a charmingly broken creature by the name of Rita Bennet, a creature that Deb found on a domestic disturbance call. She found my Rita beaten and raped in her bed, Astor with Cody locked in the bathroom, and the assailant, their father, passed out with his pants around his ankles, lying on the floor of Rita's bedroom.

For some reason Deb thought I'd be good for her. I couldn't disagree. To be 'Dexter the Man', 'Dexter the Demon' needs a good disguise. Rita is the perfect one. She is as emotionally crippled as me. She has little interest in sex and she has two small children that I appear to enjoy immensely.

It was pure bliss…until, in some unfathomable mix up, she thought I proposed. Truthfully we have been seeing each other two years. Perhaps it is time for the next step, but it's not one I'd do if I had known what I was doing. So now 'Dexter Deranged' becomes 'Dexter Engaged', and I even have a ready-made family.

I keep up the engagement for two reasons. Rita and her family add to the layers needed to keep my mask in place. 'Dearly Devoted Dexter' is a cover above reproach. The second is a bit of a surprise. I know Cody had suffered physical abuse from his father. Astor as well. I didn't know that what they witnessed has changed them. It was one of the neighbors coming to inquire about a missing pet that made me take notice. It was then that my 'Dark Passenger' glowed in paternal pride and set a knowing gaze on the two young children.

While their biological father is currently serving a life sentence in federal prison, I, Dexter Morgan, will raise them. I will teach them the Code of Harry and they will be my legacy. I think above all else, my affection for them is why I've decided to stay.

I grab a half gallon of Rocky Road and make my way down to my two budding sociopaths. Astor looks up at me and holds a Drumstick in her hand.

"Dexter, is this okay?" she asks and I nod my agreement.

"As okay as okay can be. How do you two feel about Rocky Road after dinner?" I take their selection and we go to the register.

"Good. When's mom coming home?" Astor asks. They move in front of me and begin browsing the candy bar selections.

"She should be home by five. So we have some time." I pay the cashier and hand over their ice cream. Cody takes it and carefully pulls the paper from around the ice cream. I make sure they're secure in the back, content sharing their Drumstick and head out of the parking lot towards their home.

I grab their attention and ask, "Are we up for a game of Kick the Can?"

Cody's head snaps up and he smiles a small smile. It's genuine and that's what matters. "Can we play Hide and Go Seek instead?" Eight words in a single go. For him, it's nearly a dissertation. As a reward for his speech, I nod to his nearly predatory smile and pull into the drive way. Cody does love to play the hunter.


	5. With An S On Your Chest

**Ch. 5 – With an "S" on Your Chest**

Pushing the Bluetooth in my ear I secure the gizmo and look at Willow straddling the lounge chair. She's trying to finish up the configuration on the conference call we are about to have.

She scowls and looks at her phone. Maybe trying to have this call on the beach wasn't the best idea, but neither of us is willing to move from this spot. It's hot, muggy and the sun is shining bright, almost too bright. It's a beach day if ever there was one.

"And 3, 2, 1…" she stops counting and the phone rings. She nods to me and I hit the button on the side of the earpiece.

"Hello? Cupcake? Red?" Jimmy's voice comes through clear and Willow smiles triumphantly.

"We're here, Jimmy," Willow says into the earpiece that's the mate to mine.

"Hiya, Old Man," I say and rest against the back of the chair. Good. No weird feedbackyness. Will was worried about it.

"Cupcake! Where are you two at? You sound clear enough, but I'm catchin' some strange background noise," Jimmy asks. If I close my eyes, I can see his annoyance.

"We're on the beach," Willow starts. Her hands fly over her keypad once again and the earpiece gets…muffled? I guess it's the best way to describe it. "That better?"

"Tons, Red. Why are you two having this thing on the beach? Your room that messy?" he jokes.

"Hey, I just want some sun. I'm a firm believer that we can slay demons or talk about the slaying of demons while I work on my tan at the same time." I wink at my witch. My reward is an eye roll and a shake of her head. Does no one get a decent joke?

"Cupcake, I keep tellin' you, you need better jokes. Also you two, I've been keepin' watch from up here since you found the body. You gonna tell me why a bar burnt down two nights ago?" Jimmy's voice comes through the Bluetooth headset clear and clearly annoyed.

I stifle the laugh and muster a good response, "Act of God. Don't you Catholics have them? Call'em miracles or something?"

"We do. But we don't usually view the burning down of private property a miracle. Personally, and this may just be the cop in me talkin', but I view it as arson. You two wanna tell me why?"

"We, uh, it wasn't our fault..." Willow tries. Even to my ears it sounds a tad lame.

"Red, darlin' if that's all you got I ain't buyin." Jimmy doesn't believe us and if I were him, I probably wouldn't either.

"We were attacked. Will and I ended it. The ending wasn't supposed to be a burnt down anything, but those pesky vamps, they just don't know when to say when." I shift in the chair and reach for the bottle of water to my right. "Personally, I think vamps could learn a lot from those beer commercials. I showed them the when. They didn't like it."

"Right. Knew I shouldn'ta asked," he puffs. "Who else we waitin' on?"

"Dawn," Willow answers. "Give her a minute. I just got an IM. She's trying to get to a more secure location."

We wait for a few seconds and the line beeps. Willow taps a few keys and, "Willow? Hello?" Dawn's voice comes through.

"We're here Dawn. Me, Buff and Jim. You ready to start?" Willow responds to my sister's confused plea.

"I am." I hear some rustling then, "Damn!"

"Dawn?" I question. She cusses about as much as Will does, which is almost never. It's kinda surprising considering that I've not got the cleanest mouth that hasn't been helped by Jimmy.

"Yeah, I know. Hold on." The line breaks off leaving us silent and waiting. I look to Will who shrugs. A few seconds later, the fourth line comes to life and she's back. "Sorry, had the wrong papers. Okay. How is everyone?"

"Good here, Princess. How's the Queen?" Jimmy knows how much that annoys Dawn. I can hear the steam coming out of her ears. Why he took to calling her 'princess' is anyone's guess. I just know that when she and Ken came for Christmas a few years ago, he started in with it and hasn't let up.

"Good and I wouldn't know. New York?"

"Eh, full of people and crime. Just the way you remember it. Of course with your sis and Red not in town, crime's kinda dropped off." I hear him laugh and I roll my eyes.

"Hey," Willow jumps in, "I'm not all crime causing." Of course he would joke about the one time Willow got arrested. It wasn't even that big a deal. She was chasing a vamp through the subways and hopped the turnstile; well she magicked the turnstile, but whatever. A patrolman caught her, arrested her and the vamp got away. She fumed for days.

I lean over and rub the small of her back and say, "As much fun as hearing you all poke at each other is, I've got my tan to work on and a demon to find and kill." I shift my attention to the papers Will has on her lap and direct my question to 'The Watcher With All The Answers', "What kind of demon is it, Dawn?"

"I would like you to know it was hard to find. Andrew and I were in the basement for nearly the entire day." I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the snarky remark that I have. She and Andrew do not have a good history together. Despite both finding other people to "go to the basement" with. Them, together, alone, just shouldn't be allowed.

"But between the images you sent over, Will and Jimmy, the autopsy reports you sent, I think I've found our creature feature," her voice carries a bit of pride. I guess it really shouldn't surprise me that this is what she chose to do. "The thing goes by Naumbraug. It's not a very powerful demon and doesn't kill that often. The problem is that it's old. By my guess, it's close to a thousand years old and it's the last of its species in this dimension."

"It's called a wha?" My face pinches in annoyance. Can't these demons pick normal names? Like, I've yet to run into a demon called Bob. Why can't I find one of them? It would so be a good change.

"Naumbraug," Dawn restates slowly going over each syllable so that it sounds like 'nam – br – og'. "It only needs to feed about once a century so it's never had a chance to be caught. I've looked at some news archives and there was a small rash of killings in 1808 and 1909. Seven people died once every six days. The thing likes to take parts in order. Liver, kidneys, stomach, intestines, lungs, heart and brain. One part from each victim."

Wonder if this thing would be any good at Operation. The stupid wishbone always trips me up. On the upside, at least it just started. Gives us a little bit of time.

"Right. Now, once this thing is done feeding, it disappears," Dawn continues, "I haven't actually found out where it goes. Not sure if it's a hibernation thing or just likes to keep the low profile. Either way, finding it before it gets its next snack would be a check in the plus column for us good guys."

Jimmy speaks finally, pressing, "Buffy, you sure you don't want me to come down?" his voice laced with worry. He worries way too much.

"Jimmy, I said 'no' the first time you asked," Will answers for me. "It's one demon. We'll be fine. Stay in New York."

"What about a team of slayers?" Dawn asks from her end.

"Nope," I squash that. I don't need a group of teenage girls to look after. "We're good. Will's right. One demon equals no big."

"Fine, but if you don't check in regularly, I'm sending a squad down," Dawn warns.

"Me too," Jimmy jumps in. "I don't hear from one or both a yinz daily, I'm flyin' down there and they won't like me too much once I get there."

"Over protective much?" I snort. He's worse than I am.

"Damn straight, kiddo. Just like someone else I know." The jibe stings mildly. I know I'm protective, maybe even overly so. "Fine. Daily check-ins. Dawn, we'll email you."

"Thanks, Dawnie for the leg work. One last question: How do we kill it?" That's my Will always asking the important questions.

"That's the easy part. Decapitation will do nicely. Immolation works as well. It's an easy demon to kill. The clean up's gonna suck. It doesn't poof."

I glance over at Will and she just shrugs. Her shrug says, 'We'll work it out after we kill it.' I nod and say, "It's okay, we'll deal. Dawn, anything else?" It's nice to talk to Dawn and Jimmy, but I'm itching to start tracking this thing down. We've only got two more days to find it. The last body was found four days ago. Two left. Not a lot of time and I would like to enjoy the rest of my vacation.

"Yep, and this you owe me for. You and Will are supposed to meet a contact at a place called Club Space in downtown. Someone, and before you ask who, I don't know, will be giving you some info. It was a contact of a contact of a contact. Be there tonight around ten. Someone or something will have some info. You're on the guest list for tonight."

"Huh?" Will and I ask at the same time.

"I asked around," Dawn explains, "I've got someone that has ties in the area. They're gonna ask around in the day and get with you tonight. Just be there. They have your general description."

I shrug. That club was on Dexter's list. I can totally work with that. "We done?"

"I've got nothing else. Love you three. I need to go. I have a training session with a group." Wishing good luck in our hunt, Dawnie says goodbye.

"Cupcake, Red. I'm gonna go too. I got some stuff to do. You two take care and check in with me tonight after your meet."

"Will do. Love you old man. Be safe." I wonder what he's got going on up there.

* * *

I shouldn't be this nervous. It's a club. Been to many in my time of going to clubs. I've never actually had to meet someone, an informant someone, at a club. Jeeze, sweaty palms are icky. I wipe them on the leather of the seat and look over at Buffy. She just seems so calm. Cool. One could even say collected.

It's annoying.

Can't she spaz a little with me? A sympathy spaz would not go unappreciated. Not one little bit.

Instead, what does she do? She takes my hand kissing the back of it before resting it in her lap.

Hey, where'd the sweaty go? Right, I can do this. Nothing to it. Meet a guy, get information, and leave.

The limo pulls to a stop and we wait for the chauffer to open the door. The limo was a complete surprise. Dawn arranged it for us. She's sweet sometimes and not nearly as bratty as she used to be. Thank the Goddess for growth and maturation.

Buffy steps out first and reaches back in to help me out of the limo. I wouldn't need help if she hadn't picked my outfit. This skirt may as well be spray painted on. I'm not saying the outfit isn't nice…it's just tight.

For some reason, she chose similar outfits for us. My top is a deep green and glittery with a scoop neck and no sleeves. I'm not sure, but I think it's also a size too small. Buffy's is a royal blue. She was also kind enough to put me in a black mini-skirt. She's wearing her white leather pants and I'm still not sure where she found the high heeled strappy sandals we're both wearing. I almost need magick to keep myself upright. Stupid slayers and their balance.

Gosh. This is a busy place. There are two lines. One on the left and one the right. I peer over to my right and see that the line is stretched around the corner. So, I'll go with one of the hot night spots in Miami. Four big very intimidating men stand in front of the entrance. All four look like they could have been extra's in The Gladiator. Thick, 'barely-there' necks with muscles that have no right being that large. All are dressed in black from head to toe with earpieces discreetly tucked away.

Buffy saunters up to them as I trail behind clutching her hand. She squeezes my hand when I bump into her shoulder and smiles sweetly at the security guard with the clipboard.

He looks down at us and I crane my neck to look up. Who knew people came in such heights? He's like seven feet tall. Well, maybe not seven feet, but he's darn close. His gaze trails over Buffy then me. It's a little disconcerting. I can practically hear his thoughts. All of them are unquestionably naughty and I resist the urge to glare.

A smile breaks out on his stone like face and he rumbles, "Good evening ladies."

"Hi," Buffy puts on her best Valley Girl voice and chirps, "This is Willow and I'm Buffy. You should have us on your list thingy there." She points to the clip board and bats her eyelashes at him.

He glances at the board for a second and steps aside taking the blue velvet rope with him. "You are indeed. Enjoy." Buffy walks past him and pulls me along. I'm pretty sure if I look back I'm going to rat him.

Buffy glances at me and winks right before we step through the doors. The first thing that hits is sound. Heavy techno comes pouring out of the doors. We bypass the coat check and go straight towards an open table close to the bar. A throng of people move and gyrate on the floor.

We sit down and I look around getting the lay of the place. It's two stories and there's another DJ booth set up upstairs. I can't hear the other floor's music, but by the way the few people I see are dancing, it's not techno. Rap or hip-hop maybe.

The place itself is black walls, blue and purple lighting, and plush. It all looks soft. The stool I'm sitting on has a thick, comfy cushion and there are rows of couches towards the back wall. Two bars are set up on opposite sides of the club and both swarm with people.

Buffy presses into me and nips my ear. "You want anything to drink?"

I shake my head 'no' and turn to her, softly pressing my lips to hers. I pull back and say, "We can dance if you want or sit and people watch."

Pulling back, I look at her face as she pulls me to my feet. Dancing it is. We move to the edge of the dance floor carving out a little niche for the two of us. She places me in the center then spins around me, brushing me with her hips, legs, and hands. I feel her tongue snake down my shoulder as her breasts push into my back. Her hands wrap around my waist and she pulls me to her. Close would be a loose way to describe our embrace. She moves me to the music. I'm an extension of her.

She's done this only a handful times, but every single time it sends wormy tendrils of need from my chest down. I love it. She guides my body. It's her's; she can do as she pleases. She sweeps my hair aside and her teeth graze the nape of my neck.

I turn and wrap my arms around her neck pulling her face close to mine. My eyes zero in on her lips and…I feel a hand on my shoulder. Who? It's not Buffy's. Her hands are gripping my hips. A growl passes my lips.

I turn ready to really give it to the person who's interrupting my kissage. It's darn rude.

Buffy's gaze follows mine and we are motioned off the dance floor. The slight tickle to the back of my neck tells me two things: one: our interrupter isn't human and two: Buffy's just as annoyed as I am.

He leans in close so that both Buffy and I can hear, "Outside."

I look at him and give him a look. I'm going for a look that says, 'Are you crazy?' Opening up my link to Buffy, I ask, _"Think this is the guy?"_

She gives a physical shrug and her voice fills my mind,_ "Dunno. If not, we dust him. Vamp."_

Nodding, I take her hand and motion for the vampire to start walking. We follow him behind the bar and through an 'Employee's Only' door. As we clear the noise, he starts talking, "I hear you two are looking for someone?"

"Yeah," Buffy says behind me.

"Good. What I got isn't a lot, but it might be what you two want to know." He pushes open a fire entrance door and steps out into an alley. We follow him through.

Turning right, Buffy and I are shoulder to shoulder as we look at the seven other vampires standing just outside the door. Great. Weren't we going to be friendly? We just wanted information.

Ya know, this vacation is getting less vacationy the more we're here.

Buffy pushes me behind her and quips, "Should we have R.S.V.P.'d to the party, boys?"

The vamp that led us out here turns and stands with the others. He shifts and as he talks a lisp comes through, "No need. So you're Buffy Summers?"

I look down and Buffy's got a stake in her hand. Where was she hiding that? I watch her hands go to her waist as she pops her hip out and takes on a more imposing stance. "The one and only. What is it that I can do for you?"

I see it coming from a mile away. Before the guy's feet even leave the pavement, Buffy directs, "Save three for me. Burn the rest." And she's off. Two steps and then a roundhouse to the first one's face. He goes sailing and smacks against a dumpster. Two others advance on her but she's already prepared for them.

I glance left and see three coming at me. My eyebrow rises and I fold my hands across my chest. Three vampires used to scare me. Now they kinda bug. Apparently they didn't get my memo. Oh well. I suppress the smirk and concentrate on directing the energy I'm building.

The three are about four feet from me and I wave my hand in their direction. They don't feel the fire until it's too late. It burns bright for a second before ash floats to the pavement. I really should have perfected this in Sunnydale. It would have saved so much time.

My attention goes back to Buffy. She's playing with them and they aren't smart enough to know it. The three vampires circle her and try to get in a shot. They all fail miserably. The vamp that led us out here is watching the fight not moving a muscle. I think he forgot about me. Good. With another wave of my hand I bind him to his spot then pull the vampire that hit the dumpster away from Buffy and watch him turn to ash.

Buffy glances over her shoulder at me and winks. Ladies and gentleman, here it is.

Glued to my spot, I watch as she backhands the vampire on her left and if you're not paying careful attention, slip her stake into his heart as he staggers backwards. He turns to dust and she's already pummeling the one right in front of her. Her right arm strikes out and connects with the last vampire, snapping his jaw.

The pummeling stops as more dust floats around her. The one with the broken jaw stumbles and turns to flee. Ah! Why does he think he's getting away? She watches him for a second and then sends the stake flying through the air. It imbeds itself in the vampire's back. The stake and the vampire crumble to the alley floor.

I walk up to her all smiles. "Feel better?"

She pecks me on the cheek and says, "Oddly enough, yes."

We both turn to the remaining vampire and I ask, "What did you have to tell us?"

It's always weird to see already pale vampires pale even further. I mean there's no blood flow so how? It's not like their heart's tickin' away. Could be part of that whole curse thing. Buffy pokes him in his forehead and demands, "Talk."

He sputters and coughs a few times then manages, "What?"

"Lookin' for a demon that likes to cut girls up in hotel rooms."

He swallows thickly and begs, "If I tell you, will you not kill me?"

She appears to give it a thought and shrugs. "Maybe. Depends on the witch's mood. She can be prickly."

He seems okay with that so he nods. "The only thing I know is some talk about getting a room ready at the La Playa on Collins for tomorrow night."

Buffy nods and pats him on the head. Gently she takes my elbow and steers us towards the door we exited. "Will," she says my name and I know. I release the spell holding the vampire to the alley floor and wait. His foot falls start to echo less and I wave a hand over my shoulder. His scream is muffled as we enter the club again.

* * *

I know I should be listening to Rita. She's saying important things about the wedding. About our honeymoon. Instead my mind wanders back to work. To those blood samples that I pulled from the hotel room.

Not typeable. The thought is foreign to me. There are only a limited number of blood types available to the human race. None of them match the sample I have.

"Dexter," Rita's voice cuts through my pondering, "did you make the deposit to the travel agent?"

Travel agent? Ah yes, that entirely too chipper woman. I'm not sure if she kills innocents, but being that perky should certainly count for being a monster. It's unnatural. And if anyone were to pay attention to her shoes. Honestly, plaid high heels with yorkies at the end. That alone should give me license to help her take the ultimate vacation. My 'Dark Passenger' could be her travel agent. We'll make sure she has a wonderful send off.

"Dexter?" Rita questions. I look over to her flashing what I'm sure is a fantastically mimicked sheepish half smile.

"I'm sorry; yes, I dropped off the last deposit yesterday." Her smile brightens and she kisses me on the cheek.

"Thank you. Is everything okay? You've been quiet?" She snuggles up to my side and takes my arm off the back of the couch to wrap around her.

I don't usually initiate contact of this sort. I have no real interest and I don't want to upset her. While we've been intimate, I've made a point to give her the reigns in how I touch her. It gives me the mask of sensitive and concerned and minimizes the actual contact.

While I care for Rita, I even find her pleasant to look at and be around; I have never had a real interest in sex. It's why I know Rita's the perfect fit for 'Dexter the Dutiful'. Usually when I've gotten involved, the relationship ends the day after we have sex. With Rita, it deepened. She didn't see the hollow man staring back at her as we made love. She saw what she wanted to see.

"I'm okay. Works been a bit hectic," I answer her question and she nods.

I look at her and concern creases her brow. I wish she wouldn't. "Do you want anything? Can I get you anything?"

I shake my head and kiss the tip of her nose. She really is a marvelous creature, all full of worry for everyone, but herself. "I'm fine. Tired. It was a long day."

"You were out later than usual. Was it really bad?"

I look over my shoulder to make sure the bedroom door to the kid's room is closed. Satisfied, I whisper, "You know those killings at the hotels? That's what we've been working on. I was at the last scene tonight. I'm sorry about missing dinner though."

I'm not horribly sorry about missing dinner. I was at the hotel snooping. 'Dexter the Inquisitive' visited the hotel room that houses the two charming travelers.

I found some interesting pieces of information. Someone has given them access to the reports. My reports, the medical examiner's, Debra's. They have all the information the police do. What I want to know is why? It's the missing piece of my perilous puzzle.

On the one hand, they are in town for only a visit. They'll be gone in two weeks. I don't need to fret over them traipsing over my hunting grounds. To further complicate matters, I'm nearly sure the N.Y.P.D. would grow to miss such a decorated detective as Buffy.

What is that anyway? Buffy? Who name's their child that? Her name alone should give her license for her and her darker self to do as she pleases.

But this is also a problem. My only moral compass, the code of my foster father, says that if I suspect and can prove. Action must be taken. It's what we agreed upon.

The other was nothing that I found damned them to a night with 'Dreadful Dexter' and his nice collection of flaying knives.

I rest my head against the back of the couch. The search will continue.

Rita's hand begins a slow, gentle rubbing on the back of my neck. "It's okay. Astor and Cody missed you, but they understand."

I lift my head and raise my left eyebrow, "Are you saying you didn't miss me?" She does love it when I tease her.

She blushes and a half smile creeps up her face. "I might have."

Hopefully, I can get her to sleep sooner rather than later. The one piece of information that could prove fruitful needs to be followed up on tonight. They are out this evening at Club Space and I want to follow them. I just need to get Rita asleep before then.

Deciding to take action, I scoop Rita in my arms and carry her back to our bedroom. Yes, our bedroom, since the engagement, she has the silly notion that we should live together. It had to happen eventually. It just makes my nocturnal needs maddening to hide. Where does one hide the tools used to cut and kill in a house with two young children and a blushing bride to be?

I flip her over onto her stomach and straddle her waist. Her giggles are hushed as my hands knead the pliant flesh of her back. 'Doting Dexter' has many skills. Of these, the most useful is my ability to put Rita to sleep in under a half hour with a carefully applied massage.

It takes me a half hour of decreasing pressure on her back until I hear her soft snores. Gently, I ease myself off the bed and cover her with the comforter. Wouldn't want her getting cold. She might wake up and find me missing. I've no urge to try and explain anything right now.

Creeping quietly out of the room, I head for my "study." Rita's old sewing room that she turned to a 'man den' for me. I grab the gym bag holding a few essentials and turn to leave. My car keys rest on the kitchen counter and I snatch them up like a kid going for candy.

Out the door, in the car and down the road in amazing time. I'm not only quick-witted, but quick-footed as well. Now off to do some spying. I head north out of Coconut Grove and make my way towards downtown. The display on my dash reads 10:51pm.

It's time to wait. I make sure my car is on the opposite side of the street with a clear view of the entrance to the club. The lines stretch nearly around the corner causing me to shake my head. How a mass of gyrating bodies and sweat are appealing has escaped me. It perhaps is the one thing that I have failed to pretend to enjoy.

Luckily, my wait isn't long. I look at my dashboard once again and only a half hour has passed. I watch Buffy and Willow exit the club and a limo pulls up to the curb. The driver hops out, but Buffy stops him before he opens the rear door. He nods, gets back in the limo and leaves.

The two women walk hand in hand down the street. Absolutely intriguing. I exit the car and begin a leisurely pace behind them. I don't want them to realize they are being followed after all. Their voices carry and I catch snippets of conversation. Apparently, they are after food.

Three blocks down and one right, I stop in my tracks, receding into the shadows. A trio of young punks stops my prey. Do I step in? How do I explain my presence? I'm close enough to hear what is being said.

"What is this? Can't you guys get a clue?" Buffy's voice rings angrily down the street and I smile. I'm not sure their attackers know what they've gotten themselves into. I'm certainly curious enough.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," one of the punks snarls. The three half surround the two women and to my eye, neither woman seems to be particularly frightened. Willow's posture says relaxed and Buffy is standing there with her hands on hips, dare I say defiantly?

One of them pulls a gun from his waist band and I step forward. If anyone's going to dispatch these two creatures it certainly won't be these three looking for easy money.

I take two steps and stop. Willow steps back giving me a clear view of Buffy knocking the gun out of the punk's hand. I watch slack jawed as a single round house kick sends all three sailing a few feet off the ground and back. They land folded in on themselves unmoving.

I rub my eyes quickly and step back into the shadows. Huh? She's five foot two…maybe. A hundred and five pounds if I'm lucky enough to guess right. I watch, hidden once again, as she stalks up to the three and drags them together.

"You ready babe?" Buffy asks the redhead, offering her hand.

"Yeah, but are we just going to leave them here?" Willow looks around nervously and motions towards the heap of street trash.

Buffy's hand drops and she looks back over at the would-be attackers shrugging. "I don't think they'll be doing this again."

Willow's brow furrows as she looks between the bodies on the sidewalk and Buffy. She decides to agree with her lover. Grabbing the blonde's hand, they make their way down the street appearing light and care free.

I rub my eyes once again trying to shake off the shock. Did I just see what I saw? Has 'Dear Old Dexter' become 'Delusional Dexter?'

I quickly walk up to the three unconscious youths. Spatters of blood cover their faces. One most certainly has a broken nose, one a broken jaw and the other has a large gash on his cheek.

My leashed darker self lets loose a slow rumbling belly laugh. There is more here than 'Demon Dexter' seemed to think. And I, as usual, am in complete agreement.


	6. Dogooder Knights

**Ch. 6 – Do-gooder Knights**

I turn my wrist up and look at the read out on my watch, 8:15. 'Kay, so, it's only been 3 minutes. I can't pace. So instead, I throw my head back against the seat of the car we rented for tonight. I hate stakeouts. A fiery passion could be used to describe my hate if it were said with stronger language.

I turn my head right and look at Willow who is happily reading a book with a pen light. I know I shouldn't, but I do anyhow. "Will, I'm bored," I whine.

Her head slowly turns to meet my gaze. Her left eyebrow is elevated and the smirk on her lips is infuriating.

"No, no eyebrow. No…" I wiggle my pointer finger at her lips, "none of that either."

Her features soften and she puts the book on the dashboard. "Buffy, we've been sitting here for maybe an hour. That jerk from last night said something was going on here tonight. We have to see."

"Do we have to see in the car? I thought maybe we'd just use it to get around and cart demons bits in. I didn't know when you suggested this that it would involve me sitting here for hours. Besides, how are we gonna catch the demon if we're stationary?" Ah! Logic. She can't refute that one.

She scratches her nose and her face scrunches. Did I miss something in my very logical argument of not sitting here? Great.

"Buffy," she says, using a tone that is laced with forced patience, "I know you're not good with the waiting, but…ya know, never mind." She folds her arms across her chest, leans back against the passenger side door and smiles. I swallow. That smile. It's all smuggy and evil – evil in that Willow's gonna let Buffy have it way. "We have the room number; the research and the autopsy reports indicate that we have another two hours…maybe. We can either rent a room next door to it, we can wait in the room or we can wait in the car. In the car, where there's at least _some music_ and we can make _some noise_. What do you want to do?"

Fuck. Wilting into my seat, I prop my arm on the door, rest my head against my hand and watch traffic whiz by. After a reasonable amount of time, I sneak a peek at her and she's already gone back to her book. Wonder if she'll be up for a make out session in the back seat. We've never done anything in the backseat of a car. Could be fun.

My right hand stretches and I begin a slow caress of her neck with the tips of my fingers. I trace the outline of her ear and smile when she shudders. Her lower lip gets sandwiched between her teeth; maybe the hotel room wasn't such a bad idea. A few hours to kill anyhow.

Leaning in, I pull her closer to me. Her face turns to meet mine and the look she's giving me causes me to stop. Right, so no kissing for Buffy. I'll just be over here on my side of the car then.

I go back to resting my head on the seat and close my eyes. Resting my eyes won't hurt. We've got time.

"Buffy!" I hear my name and…what? Ow! I grab the finger that's trying to bore a hole in my side and sit up.

"What?" I growl. Where are we? I look around and notice the hotel.

Oh, stakeout, right. Uhm…

Swiping at my mouth, I ask sheepishly, "How long was I asleep?"

"Two hours. It's getting late and I haven't seen anything," her voice is anxious. Automatically, I grab her hand. Willow anxious? Not good. All the times she's been, bad has happened.

"Why did you let me sleep?" I ask. My brain starts to kick in. Looking at my watch, I cuss, "Damn. 10:30. No one's showed?"

She shakes her head gnawing her lower lip. I meet her worried gaze. Right, so Buffy gets to move. I snatch the keys from the ignition and step out of the car.

Stretching, I wait for her. When her hand slips into mine, we dart across the street. "What was the room number again?" I ask scanning the U shaped building. This hotel is vastly different than ours. It's set up more like a Motel 6. The doors to the rooms are outside. The only lobby is the office where you check in and out. It's off to my right and I scan inside looking for a desk clerk. I don't see one and move forward.

"243," she answers and slips her hand free. I reach for the gun at the small of my back. Better safe than demon snacks. I slip the safety off bringing it flush with my thigh to conceal my firearm. All we need is for someone to see a short blonde woman with a gun. Explaining this would be fun.

We make our way up the steps slowly, the sound echoes off the concrete of the building. Ya know, for a hotel, this place is way too quiet. As we reach the top of the stairs, I look at the map of the hotel. It directs us left.

Oh-kay, here we go. Three doors down on the left, I stop. Edging to the side of the door, I press my ear against the cold wood. The only thing I hear is the hum of the air conditioning and running water. Not sure from where. Helpful of the not variety.

I try the projecty thingy that Will taught me ages ago, _"You remember what Jimmy and I taught you?"_

"_Yep,"_ she answers.

"_Good. Stay behind me. And get something ready in case I need back up." _

When I see the nod, I step away from the wall. Squaring my shoulders, I lean back and kick for all I'm worth. The door splinters, freeing itself of the lock. Not waiting for it to swing all the way open I dart through, my gun raised in front of me. I know it won't do anything but slow the demons down. I don't care. Slower is better and me less deader in my book. I'll use it.

My eyes adjust to the darkened room. I feel Will at my back and she flicks on the light. Dropping my gun, I look at the un-messy clean room. A room that doesn't look like it's being prepared for a ritual sacrifice.

What the fuck? Did I miss something?

"What the fuck?" I hear my lover hiss behind me.

"Uh, huh. Do you get the feeling we were duped?" I grumble.

I sweep the room. Looking under the bed and in the bathroom. Nothing. I holster my gun and rest my hands on my hips. Looking around, I wait for Will to catch up. She's still wearing fish face. It's cute, but I need her to catch up.

Her head shakes and she says, "He lied to us! Why that little, creepy…ya know, I was feelin' bad that I let him think he wasn't gonna die. Now, I wanna do it all over again." She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.

Still cute, just not what we need right now. "Will, uhm, ideas? This thing's attacking tonight. I need answers."

"Uh, well, uhm…" Her hands drop to her sides and then she begins to fidget.

I run my hand through my hair and look around. Moving to the nightstand that's between the two beds, I pull the drawer open rifling through the contents. Phone book? Not needed. Bible? So, unnecessary. Oh, hmm, this might be of use. I wonder?

"Will, do you really need herbs for spells?" I ask pulling the local map out of the drawer.

"Depends. The herbs are mainly used for focus. Why?" she queries as she rests her chin on my shoulder and peers down at what I have in my hand.

"You think you could?" I hold the map up for her to see clearly.

I feel her shrug and she reaches for it. "Worth a shot." She moves to the center of the floor and sits down Indian style. "Is there any…uhm, I need something to mark the map with."

I look around and see something that might work. I snatch the bottle off the dresser and bring her my find filled with multi-colored sand. Instead of being a glorified dust collector, it'll help stop a demon.

She looks at me slightly confused. "Hey, we're working with limited supplies," I defend my choice of markings.

Shrugging, she takes the offered bottle and dumps some out into her hand.

* * *

I grab for the first solid thing I find. My head spins. The contents of my stomach start a protest. I swallow down the urge to fulfill their request. No, they can't come up. Buffy's arm encircles my waist steadying me.

"Will?" Funny. Her voice sounds far away. "Baby, sit down." I feel something hit my bottom and the weight's taken off my feet. Oh. That's good.

Right, when your perpetually impatient girlfriend asks you to do an impromptu teleportation spell, tell her no. I'm hoping we got the right place. At some point, when I can see properly I'll know.

I try blinking and my vision slowly clears. That hurt. Lots. More than it's supposed to. I breathe in a fresh lungful of air. Breathing helps. Apparently I forgot to...oops.

The air brings with it the smell. My stomach starts rolling again. This is not good. Nope. Non-good. Non-helpful too. I clamp down and bite the inside of my cheek. The small bit of pain focuses my mind.

Go me. I got the right place. At least I'm pretty sure. It smells god-awful. Like bile, blood, and poop.

Knowing I shouldn't, I look up and wish to un-look. No, siree bob shouldn't have done that. I close my eyes, begging to un-see the seeing that they saw.

"Willow," Buffy's concerned tone makes it through the sound of blood rushing through my ears. "Talk to me."

Her hand grabs for mine and I close around it hungrily. "Good," I manage. "Just give me a second that was a lot."

Her finger's trail over my face. Her cool hand comes to rest on the back of my clammy neck. I find my center then. Focus on that. I regulate my heart rate, slowing my system to a normal pace.

Hesitantly, I crack one eye open. Buffy's hazel eyes stare at me concerned. I smile weakly and nod. "I'm good. Just don't ask me for any more spells anytime soon."

I close my eye again. Just need a few more seconds. I feel her lips press into mine. She mumbles, "You did good."

I know that. I just don't wanna look again.

Right, gotta open my eyes sometime. Might as well be now.

I return the kiss first. She's still right there. I don't need to see for that. I pull back from the peck and open my eyes.

The room looks like the last one. More blood though. Lots more. The body's on the bed. Its face up this time. Gutted. Intestines are spread out on the bed. The mattress underneath the body is soaked in blood.

I walk over. Not sure why, but I think I need to see. The girl's face is stuck in terror. Her last moments on this earth expressed clearly on her face. Her abdomen has been sliced open. I look into the hollow cavity. Yep, no stomach.

Well, stomach's more work to remove. Once you slice open the thoracic cavity, to detach the stomach you have to remove it from the lower intestines…it's, uh, fun?

Buffy's behind me. I feel her press into my back.

"We need to leave," she commands. Her voice is clipped. She's pissed. Really, really, uber, all sortsa pissed. She takes my hand and leads me out of the room.

Luckily, this hotel is set up like the one we came from. The night air feels just as oppressive. It's warm and stifling as we step out of the hotel. I look around for any indication as to where we are. I can't see the name of the hotel. Drats.

I follow Buffy. She leads us around the corner of the building towards the sound of traffic. We pass a pool with several young people splashing about. It always seems surreal. Life, happy go lucky life, carries on when upstairs…well, there's just not life and its most certainly not happy go lucky.

The sign for the hotel comes into view, The Palms. As we hit the sidewalk in front, Buffy wraps me in a hug.

"You sure you're okay?" she asks her eyes searching mine.

"Yeah, good now." I smile and rest my forehead against hers. I mumble, "Just that teleportation spell took a bit out of me. Think maybe the distance was a stretch."

She nods then steps back to pace. I practically hear her thoughts. The blame she's placing on herself is all too apparent. I stop her and force her to meet my gaze.

"Don't even think it. We thought we knew. We didn't. We tried. Let's focus on what needs to be focused on." I set my features and continue, "What next? Do you want to call Debra and have her come out here?"

She looks lost for a second deciding.

This is going to be hard to explain. I'm not sure how we will. 'Oh, yeah, ya know we were just in the area and happened to stop by this hotel. Pure coincidence that we stumble on another gutted corpse.'

I can see the handcuffs now. Not the good kind either. These one's go behind my back and hurt.

"We have to, Will. We'll explain that we got a tip. Didn't want to bug her if it was a bad one," her tone decisive as I watch her transform before me.

It's always a bit of a shock. She wears these hats and they're so interchangeable. She goes from concerned lover, to cop, to slayer, to Buffy, to decisive so fluidly. It's unnerving occasionally.

Her phone comes out and she's speaking while I look around the area. Our car's two miles up the road. Someone's gonna need to go get it. Maybe I can while she waits for the police.

Buffy comes over slipping her phone into her jeans. "She's on her way. 'We are not to leave,'" she mocks scrunching her face up.

I nod, "I figured as much. Is she pissed?"

"Define pissed?" she jokes back.

"Cranky, cussy, crabby?"

"Uh, yeah. That's about the it."

There's a bench by the front of the hotel. I grab her hand and lead her to it, pulling her down next to me, we sit and wait.

"Buff?" I speak quietly as I rub my thumb over the palm of her hand.

She squeezes back and bumps my shoulder. "Yeah, Will?"

I bring her hand to my lips and kiss the knuckles. "The next time we do a vacation; can we go to like a deserted island? Or find someplace demon free?"

She laughs and nods. "There's always the moon. I don't think there are any up there."

"We'll have to research locations." I scooch closer and rest my head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," her voice pensive as she apologizes.

I look up at her and fish, "For what?" There was something to be sorry for?

"Demons. Death. Mayhem. I was really going for a special, relaxing vacationy experience." Her arm encircles my shoulder and she squeezes.

Firming up to the reason for the apology, I ask, "Did you plan the demon interruption?"

"No," she pouts, "but it's here anyhow."

"No one could have known. We'll…" My voice trails off as I see an unmarked come careening into the parking lot. On top of the roof, a small red light twirls in its plastic globe. Nifty, she's got a Kojak light like Jimmy and Buffy do.

The car slams forward then stops. She's out before the engine's even off. "Goddamn, sunuvafuckinbitch. What the fuck do you two think you're playing at?" Deb demands.

Buffy removes her arm and reaches Deb before she can get to the bench. Standing toe to toe with the irate detective, my slayer snarls, "Trying to help." She poses, daring Debra to say something else.

I flash back to a thing I saw on the Discovery channel where two pack wolves circle each other, challenging each other silently with only body posture and looks. Buffy and Debra may not make with the circling, but the posture and the looks are dead on. I wonder if Deb knows she's gonna lose the staring match?

I stifle the urge to giggle as Deb deflates a little. "Why didn't you call me?" she snips dropping her hands from her waist.

"I didn't…we didn't know. I thought it was a bunk lead, but worth the check out. I was wrong. It's in room one-thirty-five," Buffy explains, relaxing as I put my hand on the small of her back.

"You two touch anything?" She marches back to the car and pulls out a small bag. Throwing it on the hood of the car, she pulls out a pair of rubber gloves and jams them in her pocket.

"No. Nothing." Buffy walks over and snatches a pair from the bag.

"Wait, Buffy, what about the chair?" I don't want questions being raised about our prints on that chair.

"Oh, yeah, one chair that was in the corner of the room that should have my prints. The corner of the dresser next to the chair should have Will's. She got dizzy."

Debra nods and snaps the gloves on. She eye's Buffy as my lover does the same. "I don't think so New York. No way am I letting you back up there."

Buffy arcs her eyebrow and smirks. "Too bad. I'm involved. Deal." She turns and marches towards the room we just came from.

It's going to be a _very_ long night.

* * *

_"In the wake of a devastating earthquake in Southern California, a small group of residents were able to make it out relatively unharmed from a small inland town that was literally swallowed by the earth. _

_Rupert Giles, Robin Wood, Buffy and Dawn Summers, Alexander Harris, Willow Rosenberg, and a handful of girls drove out of the collapsing town on a local high school's bus. When asked to comment, Mr. Giles' reply was 'no comment.' In fact it seems that's all that's coming from this lucky group of survivors. _

_The U.S. & California Geologic Association are coordinating to understand how such a disaster could have happened and what could have been done to help prevent it. Some private interest groups are also assisting the government, most notably a group from London, England, The Watchers Council Ltd. _

_Colonel Riley Finn of the U.S. Army is heading up the team and when asked about the concern for other towns in the area, he replied, "We are doing everything we can to ensure the safety of all of the residents in California. We've gotten some helpful information from some of our partners." _

_COL. Finn was tight lipped in regards to their "partners," but word from inside the camp says that the small group of survivors is actually a part of this endeavor. Rupert Giles was named C.E.O. of The Watchers Council Ltd. recently after their main headquarters in London was bombed during a terrorist attack…"_

I scroll through the rest of the article mildly interested and wanting to know more about what exactly this "Council" was. Typing in my query, I wait for the search engine to kick back results.

Several come up. More on the organizations tie in with the disaster in Sunnydale, financial statements, some other reports given to the Companies House in England and the most recent article naming one Dawn Summers the newest C.E.O. as successor to Rupert Giles who took a position heading the Scotland branch. I skim the article and come up with nothing much. I nearly scowl at my computer.

I, Dexter Morgan, researcher extraordinaire, Mr. Impossible to Hide From, is having trouble digging up information on my newest prey. How is that possible? I strum my fingers lightly across the keyboard. There must be something. I type in 'Buffy Summers' once again and await a response.

As the page is loading, my cell phone begins vibrating across my desk. I look at the display and my face lights up. Maybe dear old Deb will have something helpful with which to soothe my savage beast.

"Hello sister dear." I smile into the phone.

"Where are you?" she growls. Honestly I should be used to this. I'm not and that's disconcerting, but never-no-mind. Something's afoot. Deb only gets like this when she's at a scene.

"Who died?" I ask flippantly.

"I don't know, but I need you down at the Palms off Collins." I tilt my head trying to hear her clearer. If I didn't know any better I would say that Deb is "freaked out" and it takes quite a bit to get my sister into such a state. "Dex?"

"Yeah, Deb?" I soften my tone. It sounds as if she needs it.

"I need you here. Soon?" the last bit coming out more like a plea.

"I'm leaving now." I stand and look briefly at the search that gives me little to no new information. I sigh. No time for Dexter's extracurricular activities. I shut the laptop and grab my keys and wallet. I try for soothing, "I'll be there as fast as I can drive."

"Well break some fucking laws. If anyone tries to pull you over, just have them follow you here."

"Will do. See you in jiff, Deb." The line goes dead. I close the phone staring at it briefly wondering what's going on. Slipping the phone into my right front pocket, my wallet in my left hip, I clutch my keys and make my way out of the den.

Easing Rita's bedroom door open, I notice she's in bed. I walk up to the bed and nudge her awake. I place a light kiss on her forehead and whisper, "Work. I'll be back later."

She mumbles and rolls over. So much for spousal concern. I make my way to the living room and am nearly to the door when Astor's soft voice interrupts my progress.

"Dexter, where are you going?" I turn and see both my young protégé's standing there in their p.j.'s slightly tousled from sleep.

I walk back to them and escort them to their beds. "Work called. I need to go take care of some things."

Astor eye's me suspiciously, "You aren't going out to do…to…"

"To hurt things?" Cody finishes. I look sharply at him. Three words and such a direct question. I should be shocked. I think I might be. I hope it's not showing on my face.

"No, I am not. I'm going to help find someone that does." I make sure to put Astor in her bed first then set my sights on Cody who appears to not want to go back to bed at all. This is proving quite a challenge.

"I wanna go with you," he demands. I try not to show my shock further as he continues, "you promised us, Dexter. I wanna know. I'm not going back to bed."

I try to count the words strung together, but am completely flummoxed by the back bone shown by Cody. Never in the time that I have been with him has he talked so much nor been so demanding.

A small seedling of…pride wells up in me and I must wonder if this is what fatherhood is like? Is this a defining moment of 'Daddy Dexter'? Insane things like this is a school night spring to mind. They should be in bed. Even little monsters need their rest. For a well rested monster is a mindful one. And all monster's no matter their size need to be well rested.

I also glance down at my watch. I need to get moving. Does he know he's making my sister crankier by the moment as I try to explain to him that this is work and not play?

I stand there between their beds, glancing between two small expectant faces. True, I have not yet begun teaching them anything. They are after all very young. Not only are they young, but things, other things, like the wedding, the plumber, and now Buffy and Willow have been taking up my time. I think perhaps these excuses only work in my head.

"I want to learn. You were supposed to teach us," Cody nearly whines.

"I will. I am, but not tonight. Tonight is really about work. Someone's been hurt and I need to go help," I try for logic and the truth once again. Hoping for a payoff.

Cody tilts his head to the side mulling over my words, gauging their sincerity. He does this all standing in his p.j.'s, clutching the teddy bear I bought him a year ago. The contrast he presents causes me to feel slightly flustered and I idly wonder if Harry ever felt these things with me.

From my perch on the edge of his bed, he comes up to me. Looking me directly in the eyes. This too is out of character for Cody. He rarely meets anyone's gaze. Tonight he does and tonight he bargains, "Fine, but soon?"

I nod and pick him up placing him under the covers. "Soon, very soon. Sleep now though?"

He yawns and nods while I look to Astor for confirmation, she too is heavy lidded. She gives me a small smile in acceptance of the terms. Satisfied that 'Dark Papa Dexter' has won this round, I kiss Cody's forehead and tuck him in securely. Turning around, I do the same for Astor. Backing out of the door, I whisper, "Sleep now, I'll be back in a bit."

I shut the door to their room and try to remember what it was that I was doing. Their interruption of my departure has left me rather confused. The wooly feelings of frustration and pride rage war inside me.

I look to the couch and notice my C.S.U. bag. Right. Deb and a new murder. Slightly dazed, I make my way out the door.

By the time I arrive, Deb's already called me twice. Perhaps she thinks cussing at me will get me to move faster? As it was I broke a dozen traffic violations on my way here. Luckily, Miami's Best has other things to do besides hound a lowly analyst of the Miami Dade Metro Division.

I make my way through the yellow police tape and find Debra outside a room pacing. My sister, the foul mouthed pacer. I look around for Angel and can't seem to find him.

"It's about damn time. What the hell took so fucking long?" She glares at me. Usually I would give her trouble for her impatience, but the way her body sets. The tension's nearly tangible as I move closer to her. Her eyes set to slits as she asks, "You were coming from Rita's, your new place?"

"Astor and Cody woke up. I'm sorry." And truth, I nearly am. I could have lived with out the little talk I had with my two children to be.

More surprising than Cody's sudden need to talk is Deb's quiet acceptance of my excuse. She nods and places her hands on her head lacing and locking her fingers together. I turn and am nearly to the door when she stops me. "Dexter, wait!"

I turn back, my eyebrows lifted. I'm used to Deb and her neediness. There is something different here though. Something's off. Something I'm not familiar with. She motions me over and I oblige.

Taking me to a secluded corner, she begins to explain, "There's something different with these killings, Dex. I need your help. Anything that you can find. Any little special "feeling" that you get. I need to know about."

"Of course, would I leave me favorite sister high and dry?"

She rolls her eyes and says, "I'm your only sister. Also if there are prints in there that belong to Buffy or Willow, squash them. They would be around the chair and the dresser if there were."

Huh? Why would there be and why is my sister, one of the most ethical cops, trying to cover up potential prints? Other questions fill my head and I ask the only one that's blinking in neon lights, "Why would their prints be here?"

She bites her lower lip and says, "They're the ones that found the body. I sent them back to the hotel before back-up got here. I told Angel and everyone else it was an anonymous tip."

I'm sure my jaw is on the concrete some five and a half feet down. She's covering up for two women she barely knows? Two women who have found not one but two of the bodies, two women who have been gathering reports about these cases, why? The only thing I can manage is a curt nod. I turn around to the suite door, clench my jaw and make my way inside.


	7. More Villains Than Heroes

**Ch. 7 – More Villains Than Heroes**

Gotta hand it to the people in Little Havana they know how to make music to dance to. If it wasn't for the fact that Will and I have been walking around this place for the past three hours trying to find our demon, I would so totally have stopped to enjoy the sounds. Instead, we've been going from place to place looking for a needle in a haystack.

Who would do that anyhow? Put a needle in a haystack. Just seems like badness to me. And finding? So not fun.

We pass another set of old men playing dominoes and Will points across the street to the next place on our list. Local two-forty-three of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Decidedly not the place I expected to house demons, but I've seen stranger…I think.

She takes my hand as we cross the car deserted street. Seems like the locals like to drive as much as I do. Barely any traffic at this hour. It's only eleven, but it seems everyone's busy inside, drinking, dancing and partying. Better for us I guess.

We come to a small stucco building painted in garish colors. There's the other thing. Do people not realize that turquoise isn't a color to be used to paint a building? It's a theme. Cultural maybe? I'm not totally sure, but seriously, Ty Pennington should have a look. Does Extreme Home Makeover do whole neighborhoods?

"Buffy, door." I look up to Will and notice her holding the door open. It's not that I wasn't paying attention; it's just that lime green isn't supposed be the color of a V.F.W.

Stepping up behind me, I feel her hand slip into mine once again. Trying for casual, we go to the bar and take a seat. This place, not what I had expected. Its bar like, but more uhm, dated than that. There're plaques, flags and I squint, staring at the back wall of the actual bar. Between the two shelving units holding the liquor, there's a stuffed alligator head.

I cast a quick look to Willow. She shrugs and spins around on the bar stool.

So I'm the only one that thinks a stuffed alligator's head is freaky?

Huh.

I follow her action and look out over the sparse crowd. Not much in the way of business. A few older guys and two couples pock mark the place. All of them human. I lean in and whisper, "You getting anything?"

I watch her lips purse and she scans the area before nodding. Cool. Guess she's got something. It's the something I'd like to know about. She doesn't clue me in. Instead she hops off the bar stool and grabs my hand, leading us towards the back of the building. We pass the bar, the lame excuse for a karaoke machine and the bathrooms. I'm about ready to stop her when it looks like a dead end, but don't. Her hand waves in front of a wall and a door shimmers into view.

Uh, hmm, not expected. Not gonna complain. At least this isn't a total bust. She pushes open the door and the first thing we're hit with is sound. A heavy Latin beat assaults my ears and then cigar smoke hits my nose. Normally the smoking doesn't bother me so much, but cigar smoke is different. It makes me kinda pukey. I swipe at my nose as we move farther into the club. Demons are spread throughout. Dancing, like actual dancing, to the smooth beat of the drums and acoustic guitar.

I try not to stare as I watch a three-horned Kinold demon gyrate, virtually humping, on the backside of the she-wookie looking demon that's dancing with him. I mean if Chewbacca had a sister, this, uh, girl, yep, girl, would so totally be his sister. Well, except for the tail. Her tail snakes up the demon's leg and begins massaging his growing cr…uh, moving along, now - going quickly even. I hurriedly catch up to Will. Tails aren't supposed to do that. That was – check, please?

Willow smirks at the shocked expression I know I'm wearing. I shouldn't be shocked, but this place has a totally different feel. It's way more uhm, modern than any place I've been to. Demons mingle here and half of them are even up to date in the style department. The décor is that of a new night club. It's smaller in scale but the lighting fixtures and bar area all look new. Maybe the place just got rebuilt.

Will motions to the back and mouths 'restroom.' I nod and turn my attention to the human bartender. Smiling, I order two rum and cokes and slip him a fifty. My hand stays on the bill as he tries to grab it. Placing my other hand over his, I motion him closer. As his ear nears my mouth, I apply a bit of pressure to my grip on his arm and ask sweetly, "I'm hoping you could help me out. I'm looking for a demon. Species is Naumbraug. You know anything?"

I pull back and notice the wince as he shakes his head 'no.' I lean back in and apply more pressure. "I'm sure you know what a slayer is. Do I have to tell you what I can do to do this place?" He shakes his head and I continue, "'Kay, so let's try again. I'm looking for a demon. Been kinda active lately. I'm sure you've seen the papers. This thing might be causing it. I just want to talk."

I feel Will put a hand on the small of my back as the bartender says through clenched teeth, "'S, a guy. Older looking guy. Off to your right."

I release his hand and he tumbles back grabbing at the fifty on the counter. I nod, taking a sip from my drink. Handing Willow hers, I scan the crowd casually. My eyes track back to a shadowed area of the club. There's a line of booths and I zero in on the only human looking guy in the third booth back. He looks to be in his mid fifties. Dark skinned and bald. He's laughing at something sitting across from him.

I look away before he notices he's being watched. Motioning in his direction, I direct Will's gaze that way. She gives a slight nod and I set my drink down.

Showtime.

I saunter over to a row of pool tables by the booths. Taking a stance in front of the first one, I pull the short sword I've been carrying free from under the back of my shirt. Did Versace know that light, puffy jackets were not only the height of summer fashion but also excellent for concealing medium sized weapons? I might just have to send them a card.

I keep the sword close to my side as the music in the club stops. Will takes a position off to the far left and nods. I cough loudly and gather the crowd's attention. 'Kay so it might be the short blonde girl wielding a sword in a demon bar that's attention worthy. Not like I wouldn't normally do this – not now anyhow, but I'm tired of going from place to place. If this demon's our demon, I'll know soon enough.

I smile brightly at the annoyed faces of varying species of demon before me. "Hi, I'm Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Would any of you happen to know where I could find a Naumbraug demon?"

The club is dead silent. All of the eyes are trained on me. Slight movement to my left grabs my attention. One of the patrons comes up to me and snarls, "Get the fuck outta here, puta mugrienta!"

Alright so I'm white. But I'm also from southern California. I know enough Spanish to realize he called me a name. And really now, can I get something better than filthy whore? Is originality too much to ask for in an insult?

He cocks his fist back to swing. The spray of blood catches the side of my face and I cringe, clamping my mouth shut. His arm falls to the floor and he screams.

Will moves from her position and runs past me. I leave the wailing demon and the stunned audience behind as I try to catch up to my witch.

* * *

He runs. Of course he runs. Not running would have been stupid. But…now that I think about it, him running just pointed to the guilty party. Silly demon. I take off after seeing him bolt from the booth. Down a hallway and out a side door to my left. Buffy's following. I feel her getting closer.

The exit door slams against the stucco building and I look right, towards the street. He didn't go that way. I look left and see a shoe round the corner. Okay. Left it is.

Why do they have to run? Can't they just stay still for a few minutes? I suck in a breath and round the corner. He's trapped.

Ha! Serves you right Mr. Hawaiian shirt wearing demon!

Fear radiates off him. With the fear comes defensiveness. He should be scared. Buffy comes up behind me and moves herself between the demon and me. He looks…normal. Khaki shorts, knee socks with sandals…really…knee socks with sandals? Buffy's gonna slay him for that alone.

His hands go up as he stammers, "W-w-what did I do?"

Buffy rests her sword on her right shoulder, looking him up and down. Her hip cocks to the side and she chirps, "I just wanted to talk. You ran. We followed."

His dark olive skin blanches a little as he realizes his mistake. As he lightens just a shade, horns and spikes grow on his skin. The shirt and pants he's wearing shred as his form morphs to its truer image. Moving closer to Buffy, I watch him double over and pull the tattered remains of the garish shirt off.

He stands upright, tall and ready to attack. It's there on his stomach, a mark that proves we've found the right demon. Unadorned with spikes is a clear patch of molten brown skin. It's marked with the symbol that was carved into the bodies.

Buffy notices as well and takes on a better stance to attack. I know this is wrong. I mean I shouldn't, but seeing her fight, it's poetry really. I've always kinda thought so. She's so graceful. Fluid in her movements and I don't get to see her slay much. While I like the non-nightly slayage, I love seeing her fight too. Something's wrong with me. I just know it.

"Slayer!" he bellows.

Didn't we already establish this? I'm sure she made the announcement.

"I am," she says, bringing the sword from her shoulder to twirl it in the air. "Anyway I'm going to get out of this with this outfit intact?"

For some reason that pisses him off. I step to the side and watch her meet him half way. It's not something I've ever seen. His spikes take the hits from the sword. Almost like armor, but not. Small chunks of them fly in the air as she parry's then feints with the sword to land a high kick to the demon's neck.

I lean against the side of one of the buildings to my right and watch the dance. She toys with him. Going left then right. He tries to sweep her feet but she jumps, bringing her fist down on his nose. Black blood spurts out and I hear, "Eww gross."

The blow doesn't stop him. Before her feet touch the ground, he swings, landing a punch to her exposed left side. I hear, more than see, the damage the blow causes. The sound of fabric ripping, a rib snapping and her grunting fill the air.

She drops to her feet and rolls right, protecting her now injured side. Springing to her feet, she blocks a succession of blows to her face and midsection with her forearms and sword. I watch her back up towards a corner of the alley.

He lands one blow to her upper arm and another to her temple. I hate it when she does this. But there's a point. He swings dropping his left shoulder and she takes the opportunity. The small sword slashes through the air, hitting its intended target.

Mildly grossed out, I watch his head tumble through the air. The blood from his severed neck spurts up and arcs out following the body part. It's another weird thing. Just one of those immutable laws of the Universe I guess. But it never seems to matter how often you see things get beheaded or dismembered, there's this single moment of ickyness that just can't be ignored.

The ick factor here is sorta high. The blood finally falls and lands close to my feet. The head it – well it does something that it just shouldn't. It doesn't roll. It tumbles in the air and then makes this splatty sound, landing with the neck down, against the concrete.

I've seen lots beheaded. I've managed to do one or two of them myself, but never, in the past twelve years, have I ever seen a severed head land like this. My tummy rolls before I can clamp down on the queasy. I look right and the body thumps to the ground. More ick. Yay, us…?

Maybe not.

Buffy looks smugly down at the headless corpse and nudges it with her foot. "Serves you right. I mean killing the girls, so totally worth a good beheading, but I'm not sure there's a death suitable for your choice of foot attire. Socks with sandals! Will, can you make it come back so I can kill it again?"

I raise my eyebrow at her and say nothing.

She smiles sheepishly and shrugs. "Well, can you blame me?"

A small smile graces the corners of my mouth and I shake my head. No, I really can't.

I walk up to her and examine her side. It's not bad really. The rib's broken. I mumble a few words and press my hand against the injured side. Warmth spreads out from my palm into her skin. Not healed. But coaxed well enough along that it should be good by the time we get back to the hotel.

She places a peck on my cheek in thanks and I beam back. Our lives are weird, but good. No complaints from the Willow camp.

"So, body. Body that doesn't poof," she says, looking at the corpse.

"Yep, no poof. We could leave it?" I suggest. Although I know we won't. If her exaggerated eye roll didn't tell me the sigh would have. "Well, if you pick up the head and place it with the body, I could burn it?"

She beams. "Sounds like a plan." She walks over to the head and picks it up by a single spike. The spike's pinched between her thumb and pointer finger as she carries it over to the body. A look of utter disgust is on her features as she drops the head on to the demon's stomach.

"My job's done. Get to burnin' witch." She winks and I sigh wearily, shaking my head. That joke. So not funny. She knows talking about The Burning Times makes me cranky.

I shove her back and wave a hand over the body. It flashes for an instant, burning bright. Concentrating, I put a little more 'umph' into the spell and the body sorta does this imploding thing. Opposite of what you would expect, it folds in on itself till there's nothing left but a charred black mass.

Satisfied with the outcome, I take her hand and lead her out of the alley. She's still carrying that short sword in her left hand. I cough, nodding towards the sword and she gets the picture. Making sure the blade's clean she tucks it behind her back, concealing it in the scabbard under her clothes.

"So Will, we have some time left on our vacation. What's say we vacation properly?" Her grin's lecherous and it sends a shiver down my spine. Nifty.

My response to her offer is a grin of similar ilk. Vacation here we come.

* * *

There's a cool ice that runs through me on nights like this. I become more. I become calmer, more focused. It could be labeled as an addiction. I need to do this just as much as I need to breathe. 'Degenerate Dexter' is out tonight and will take care of not one, but two creatures that have called to him – to me. It was only a matter of time. Their time ran out.

I take one last look over the room that I've prepared. This isn't how I would usually set up for one of my kills, but these two, Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg, are an unusual case. Instead of making them disappear, I'm going to leave them to be found. This creates a certain set of problems that I don't usually have to prepare for and deal with.

Instead of lining my work area with soft, clear plastic to prevent blood spatter, contamination and above all else, make it easier to clean up when I'm done working, there is nothing covering the walls, my work area, which will end up being the bed or any other surface in their suite bedroom.

My biggest challenge will be to recreate the crimes they themselves perpetrated. The biggest difference is that the good doctor will take the fall. She'll become the patsy as the evidence I supply tonight will support her turning a blade to her lover and then to herself. If I can, a nice little note left on an open laptop will provide a sweet, bitter goodbye. The only issue that I foresee lay in the way these two interact. Given the evident affection both of them share for one another, it will be hard to accept. I will have to pull from 'Deceptive Dexter's' font of fake emotions to write something believable.

I pick up the knife that I found this afternoon in their room. The knife that'll be used to cut up their own bodies the same way they cut up the three other women. It was a rather productive day. I begged off work a little early and informed Rita that I would be fishing and not home until late tonight. This freed me up to snoop one last time in Buffy and Willow's room. It was today that I found everything that I need to meet Harry's Code.

Not only did I find the knife, but fax copies of all of Metro Dade's files on these crimes. Also in my persistent pursuit of culpability, I uncovered stacks of information on demons and other occult paraphernalia. I mean really, demons, vampires and other things that go bump in the night? Of all the inane things I've come across in the boudoirs of my intended victims, I've never once seen as much silly literature. The only things in the night that normal people should reasonably fear are the demons that live within people like me and them.

I check my gear one last time. My attire is designed to severely minimize cross contamination. I entered with double layered latex gloves and my hair neatly tucked away in a hair cap. One funny thing that most criminals don't realize is that latex can transfer prints. If you sweat enough, the oil will cause markings through the latex and transfer on to objects. Double layering almost always prevents this from happening. My shoes are covered in disposable booties that I use at other crime scenes to prevent tracking. Green hospital scrubs and a rubber smock complete my outfit. Things are going to get messy and I'd rather not track anything away from this place once I'm finished.

I walk into the bathroom and unplug my stun gun. It's one of the two methods I will use tonight to incapacitate Buffy and Willow. Willow will get the shot of Dihydroetorphine and Buffy will get stunned. I've been through this plan a dozen times tonight, filling in the holes and streamlining the sequence of events. Buffy will go first. She has to. As a cop, she'll be skilled enough to try and break free.

The scene will mirror their crimes. It'll keep the police looking for the same killer and stop them all at the same time. I'm sure that the families of these ladies will mourn. The N.Y.P.D. will more than likely celebrate Buffy's service, but in the end it will be for the better. Two less monsters roaming the night. Two more to add to my collection. Debra will take it kind of hard seeing as how she's cultivated some type of relationship with these two women. Perhaps one day I'll explain to her what I did. For now, I find it best to keep her in the dark.

The back of my right arm swipes at my brow, soaking up the sheen of sweat. It's not too warm, but the only air coming in the room is from the cracked balcony door and I'm covered from head to toe. Checking the hypodermic one last time, I pocket both the gun and the needle and continue to wait. It's a little after eleven and I'm hoping that they will be back soon.

I move out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to wait. The way the hotel room is set up the kitchen counter will hide my crouched form as they enter the suite. From there, it's about timing. I slide down the counter side and face the hallway wall. The adrenaline coursing through me heightens everything, making it difficult to wait for my prey. But I have to. I sit and wait, occasionally glancing down at my watch as the minutes tick by in a slow, steady trickle.

It's nearly an hour later when I hear movement in the hallway. A muffled moan and graceless fumbling accompany the sound of a card slipping into its slot in the door. My being flushes, coming to life. And we are off. I watch the glass of a painting on the wall opposite me. It reflects their forms nearly perfect. They paw at each other. In a very graceful display, Buffy's leg stretches behind her and she shuts the door while managing to rid her lover of her top. A part of me is impressed with these two. They seem very much in sync with each other.

As the door slams shut, Willow tugs Buffy backwards, nearly to the hall. I crouch waiting, licking the small sheen of sweat that's built on my upper lip. In five, four, three, two, one…they make it to the entry of the hallway, blind, unaware of my presence. Willow's foot slides in front of me and I stand. Without hesitation one hand plunges the needle into the redhead's neck while my other hand jams the crackling gun into the exposed side of the good detective. Willow crumples and Buffy turns to me shocked.

It takes a few seconds more than I anticipated, but finally Buffy falls to the floor twitching. Interesting. I shut the gun off as the officer falls into unconsciousness. The air fills with a smell of singed hair and flesh. My nose crinkles in distaste and I place the stun gun and needle back into my pockets.

Time for the fun to begin.

I pick Willow up by the wrists and drag her back to the bedroom. I lift her up and into the chair I have set aside for her. Securing her with nylon rope, I make one last quick check to ensure the strength of her bindings. I turn back to the doorway and head to the hallway. Buffy is still unconscious and I hoist her smaller frame up, carrying her back to the bedroom.

Laying her down on the right side of the bed, I pull her arms above her head and tie them down with the bondage straps I've bought for tonight. They were a specialty item in an adult store that I found. Since I couldn't use my usual plastic wrap, I had to figure out a different way to immobilize my victims. These ties go under the mattress and are held snug by the weight of the bed and the people lying on it. My hands work deftly with the straps and I quickly move to her feet. Securing them, I right myself and wait for them to come to.


	8. Blackest of Night

**Ch. 8 – Blackest of Night**

Pain radiates from my left side, spreading over my stomach and spidering down the rest of my body. My body feels heavy, but at least I'm flat on my back. I resist the urge to open my eyes, for now. Now's the time to take stock. The trick is to not alert anyone else that I'm sorta, kinda conscious.

The facts: I'm strapped down to the bed or what feels like a bed. My tongue is thick and my throat burns. Will's alive and somewhere to my left. There's someone else in the room. They aren't moving much, but I can hear a third heartbeat. Finally, we come to my most startling revelation for the evening: Buffy's not only being held captive, _again_, but is also down to her underwear.

Isn't there some law of averages that I'm breaking? I mean the last time this happened…it ended…uhm, poorly. Yep, poorly.

It smells like our hotel room. So it's a good bet that's where we are. But what the fuck happened? I was getting ready to enjoy Wiccan flesh and then pain. Stupid brain, it feels like it was fried. Fried? Aha! There was someone in the hotel room waiting on us, they stuck Willow with something and then – ah the stun gun. Can I say ouch?

'_Willow?'_ I reflect to her, trying to bridge our connection.

Nothing. I push more, harder, _'Willow!'_

It takes effort, but I maintain the connection. Nearly sighing when I hear an internal groan. _'Will, don't move.'_

'_Eh?'_ Willow's groggy voice fills my head. It's weird. She sounds like she does in the morning.

'_Me. You. Being tied up. Don't move. Don't open your eyes,' _I try for firm, but I'm never sure how I come across via telepathy. Can I take a moment to say that my life still borders on an episode of the X-Files most days?

'_Is that why I feel like I have a bad hang over?' _

'_They, whoever they are, drugged you. When we get out of this remind me to punch them. Hard.'_

'_They? More than one?'_ she asks confusion clear in her thoughts – er, uh, question.

'_I think there's only one. I'm not being gender specific.'_

'_Oh.'_

Suppressing a small laugh, I ask, '_Are you okay enough to magick your way out of the binds?'_

'_Yeah, my head feels huge, but I should be okay. Plan?'_

'_I'm gonna keep them occupied. You get out of it, keep them still and get me out of mine.'_

'_Tell me when.'_ The connection dulls for a moment then flares back, _'Buffy, don't – be careful, please?'_

Her concern warms me and I quell the small bit of fear I feel in her, _'I'll be fine. Love you.'_

'_Love you too.'_ I break the connection on my end and crack my eyes open.

The room is lit by the two bedside lamps and a man has his back to us. I squint, looking harder at the top of the head. Hey! I know that head.

Dexter?

What? Huh? And How?

The confusion slices through and I look around the room. On the dresser to my right, there are pictures of the three victims from the Naumbrag demon. Why?

I cough, getting his attention. I go to speak but he silences me with an upturned hand and fills the silence, "Good to see you're awake. Talking's not really necessary."

He slides up to the bed holding the knife Dawn had couriered over. I meet his eyes and press back into the bed. Ice washes down my spine. I should be used to looking into humans like him, but it never seems to stick. They're cold, empty – almost. The grin I see him wear would chill other – normal people. I'm not normal and fear isn't something I feel very often.

I'm not scared. More annoyed. He's going to have to explain what the hell is going on.

I smile up and meet his grin. Sweetly, I reply, "I'm always being told to not talk." I pause, watching the scowl cross his face then continue, "I really could care less what others tell me to do. It's a thing."

A small laugh rumbles through his body as he shrugs and says, "I didn't expect you to. But I will gag you if you get too loud."

My eyes flick to Will. She's shrugging off the ropes while Dexter's undivided attention is on me. My focus goes back to the C.S.U. man. He doesn't need to know he's about to get his ass handed to him.

I'm about to offer another sarcastic comment when he pitches back, up, off his feet and into the wall to his right. He flails and his body crumples. I watch a little wide eyed as he shoots back up and slams into the wall again. This time he stays there. Spread eagle, pinned and wide eyed. I don't think he's used to feeling fear. It's there though, reflecting in his features.

"Willow, uh, untie me?" Her chest is heaving and she's staring at him. Their eyes are locked on each other. She's pissed. I know. She hates being tied up just as much as I do. Considering the last time this happened, she's gonna be pretty pissed off. Well not gonna, more like is. Definite present tense here.

My words finally sink through and she snaps her attention to me. Her features, they soften instantly and she waves another hand over the restraints holding me down, snapping them off.

Uh. I forget. Her like this is sorta scary. I don't fear things very often. Willow always manages to ping my wig meter for some reason.

"You okay?" she asks softly, seeming to calm just a little.

I nod and swing my feet over the bed. OW! Damn it. That stun gun hurt. I glance down at my side and see the fading bruises and the pinkish, puffy skin. I scowl as I meet Dexter's gaze. I send him a sour look and reach for the robe Willow's handing me. She's already put hers on.

"Are you okay?" I ask pointedly. She smiles brightly and nods.

I secure the sash and grab for Willow's hand. Her touch calms some of my frayed nerves. Turning my attention to the pinned man on my wall, I demand, "Explain. Now."

He sputters, coughs, and tries to speak. He manages a wheeze.

"Words help. Try again." I squeeze Will's hand a little and his face gets less red.

"Hh-I…how?" he sputters. Words this time. Not an explanation.

I let go of Will's hand and step up to him, tugging his body down so that we're eye level. Growling low, I say, "This isn't your chance to ask 'how.' What the hell are you doing here?"

"T-to sttoop yyouu," he chokes out.

Stop me? I'm full of sense of the not variety. Turning my attention back to Willow, her eyebrows raise at my questioning look. I read that look as 'what do you want me to do about it.'

"No, I don't need the 'exasperated Willow'."

She relents, folding her arms across her chest. "Minion?" It's sort of a hopeful question. Honestly, it's the best of we've got.

I spin around and bury my hand an inch from his right ear. Plaster plumes out of the hole as I snarl, "Which demon do you work for?"

His eyes are huge. Frightened and huge. "I don't…demon? I don't work for a demon."

His pulse races, I can see the rapid beat of it reflected in a vein pulsing in his neck. And for some reason, the way he asked about a demon. I don't think he does. What's going on? My head starts in on a dull ache.

Willow comes up behind me and pulls my hand from the wall. She looks over my hand; dropping it when she's satisfied I didn't damage it. This should hurt. It doesn't. Punching things stops hurting after the hundred or so pieces of concrete you've busted through. It's one of those things.

Willow turns her gaze to Dexter. I flinch a little and a small drop of sympathy ripples through me. That look could freeze fire.

"If you don't know any demons, then what are you stopping us from?" Her voice is downright chilly.

He swallows thickly answering, "Stop you from killing anymore people."

And my cup runneth over with 'huh?'

* * *

Kill what? My head's still sort of fuzzy and I swear that he just said that he was going to stop us from killing anymore people?

"What?" Buffy cuts into my thoughts mirroring the words on the tip of my tongue.

I rub at the puncture on my neck and try to piece together what's been said. I…he thought we were killing those girls. "What?"

"You two are… aren't you the ones that have been killing the girls in the hotel rooms?" His voice loses a bit of conviction and simmers to slightly confused with an undercurrent of fear.

"No," Buffy scoffs at the absurdity of his question. I would scoff too, but right now, I'm too preoccupied with keeping him still and filling in the gaps. I turn slowly and look around the room. The ropes, the restraints and finally, to the pictures of the victims on the dresser.

Oh…

I turn back around and his mouth is hanging open. I put up my hand to stop the words on his lips. "You thought we were killing these," I point to the pictures, "women. You were going to stop us. Stop us how?" The other pieces click into place and the true intent of his actions…it…it…

He was going to kill us!

I clench my jaw and cap the anger. Anger is not good right now. Anger will lead to badness. I'm done with badness for tonight.

"Why do you think it was us?" I manage to get out. I need more.

"Your convenient appearances at the crime scenes. The information you had here. The knife. The papers. These killings started when you two arrived." He manages to get all of that out despite the force I'm exerting on his neck.

Well when you put it like that, it all sorta does add up to guiltiness. But we're not guilty. We just stopped the thing that was. He doesn't know that. And he obviously doesn't believe in demons.

But he was still going to kill us!

I circle back around to that thought and the room starts a spinny thing that makes me think I should sit down. Buffy notices and is at my side instantly.

"Will?"

I offer a weak smile and move to sit down on the bed. "I'm good. Dandy even. Just my head's all blustery." I sit down on the edge of the bed and rub at my temples. "You were going to kill us."

He blanches a little as I state his true intent. He was being skirty on the issue. This is no time to skirt.

Buffy turns to him shocked. Didn't she figure that out?

"You were going to WHAT!" she screeches the last part and it reminds me of Dawn for some reason. Monks or no monks. Those two share a scary amount of similarities.

"Buffy, screaming? Not good." I try to calm her down. Truthfully, if I screamed, I would probably do the same thing.

She spins to me and motions back at Dexter.

Dexter! I knew I didn't like him! Darn it!

"Will, he was going to kill us! Kill you, me. I think, given the circumstances, I'm being too damn calm right now."

She sorta has a point. I'm not letting her know that.

I send her a sour look. "We are still in a hotel. I'm not sure how thick these walls are. Do you want to explain this to anyone else?" Her jaw relaxes as she realizes the truth to my statement.

Her cheeks puff and then deflate as she sits next to me on the bed. She reaches for my hand automatically and I lace our fingers together. She's tense. I'm tense. It's a tense situation.

Dexter is tense. The big ole' meany.

I look sideways at Buffy and try to figure out what to do. There're more questions than answers at this point, but we need to know. He needs to know.

'_Will?'_ her voice softly presses into my thoughts.

'_Yeah, Buff.'_

'_Uh, what now?'_ she asks as her thumb runs circles over the palm of my hand.

I lean my head on her shoulder and answer, _'I don't know.'_

She chuckles softly into my robe. _'Great.'_

'_Uh-huh. He was going to kill us. He should at least know that we've stopped the killer. Do you want to tell him what the killer was?'_

She tenses as my hand runs lazily over her lower back. Yeah I know, more people in the know about demons. Just what we need.

The real kicker is that if he was going to kill us, this probably wasn't the first time he's done this. How many people has he actually killed? Does he only kill people that kill other people? And what's the point of that anyhow?

Kill people that kill people to show that killing people is wrong? May have been on a bumper sticker somewhere, but it's true. Where's the sense? There is no sense. It's non-sensey and the questions keep piling up and I'm getting nowhere.

Focus Willow. Solution. Not the problem.

I feel Buffy shift beside me and stand. I watch as she begins a tight pace in front of me. Great. Now she's pacing. I shake my head. If it's a sure sign of 'agitated Buffy,' it's when she paces. She gets uber-tense and snippy. I'm not fond of the snippy.

'_Will, if he was gonna kill us, I'd bet money on this not being his first time,' _her voice echoes crisp in my mind. Well at least she's thinking again. The shocks worn off.

'_That's what I was thinking. Ideas?'_

She stops and looks at Dexter. Really looks at him. The seconds lapse and I swear it's a good two minutes before she sighs and turns back to face me.

Her hands settle on her hips and I flash back to the million and five times I've seen her strike that particular pose. From the first day I met her, to now, over a decade later sharing a bed, that pose normally spells trouble. Most of it she gets us out of with only a few scars.

On the very rare occasion, it's her being just plain old Buffy and wanting to be mischiefy. There was one day during my Integrated Clinical Medicine class, she comes in, hands a sheet of paper to the shocked doctor and turns to me. Pushing her jacket aside to show off her shield, her hands move to her hips, her right hand resting behind her gun, pushing it forward while her left rests casually on the side jutted out. Her smile was playful as the doctor called my name and told me I was dismissed.

The big to do was nothing more than her getting off work early. We had been too 'two ships in the night' like over that month and she was up to, as usual, no good. We took the weekend and went to this hotel in Connecticut.

I wish I could say that her like that now would lead to snuggles and breakfast in bed. It won't. She's planning something.

'_Will, when I tell you to, drop him,'_ her voice fills my mind and I look at her like she's grown a face full of fangy, bumpy badness.

She rolls her eyes and persists,_ 'I want to tie him up. I need to talk to you without him being a worry. Drop him when I tell you and I'll tie him up.'_

Oh. _''Kay.'_

Yep, planning.

She walks up and grabs him by the back of the neck. He winces as her grip tightens and she nods in my direction. I release him, ending the spell that holds him to the wall and his feet nearly go out from under him. Buffy catches him and drags him sputtering over to the chair that I was tied up in. Planting him down, she quickly lashes a piece of rope around him and has him tied before he can try to escape.

I would feel bad for him if he hadn't tried to be killy. Unfortunately, he did and I'm not. She checks to make sure that he's secure. Satisfied, she rights herself, turns to me and motions to step out into the hall.

Yep, plan. I just know it's not going to involve Twinkies and kisses. Well, crud.

I follow her out the door anyhow.

* * *

I'm left abandoned and alone. Sweat beads and trickles down my back and face. It's cold. The two just left. I would say that's what I meant by alone, but it's not. I've never been without the feeling of having my other self with me. I've always been - I suppose the feeling would be warmed by the presence of my Dark Passenger.

It seemed that the moment Willow met my eyes as I was pinned to the wall; he tucked his tail between his legs and scampered off. I don't know where to nor do I appreciate the abandonment. One moment I was in control, he, _we_ were in control. And then her. I'm tossed around the room by unseen hands and trapped underneath phantoms that nearly squeeze the life out of me.

Were the books about demon and magick actually fact? What have I gotten myself into and how can I get myself out of it?

Fear, frigid, foreign and formidable settles into my gut and I'm unsure of how to handle it. The predator becomes the prey in an odd cosmic twist and Dexter feels as if he's slipped into some nightmare, drowning in dark dreams. The fact that I'm considering accepting the existence of demons, vampires and magick from the presence of one small doctor causes my head to spin.

Could it have been the truth? More over can it _be_ the truth?

I've never been wrong about my selection of victims. Of course the thought that I've never run into…into a witch, seems to never have happened to me before either. The thought rolls through me, a witch. Like the Wicked Witch or no, like…something entirely different than what the story books have reported.

And what of the detective? No woman her size and weight should be able to put her fist through a wall, let alone pick me up like I weigh next to nothing and shove me in a chair. But she did. And I think – I know that if I was heavier or even if there were two of me, she'd still be okay with the weight.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I swallow. Sweating is a usual thing here in Miami, but I've never been this cold while sweating at the same time. It's so bad that I'm shaking. It's a simple cause, for the first time that I can remember, the entwined path's of 'Dear Dexter' and 'Dreadful Dexter' do not lay in the hands of each other. Instead it lay in the hands of two would be victims of my Dark Passenger. Two women who are currently in a heated debate in the hallway.

What are they going to do? Kill me? Turn me in?

More sweating is brought out by more of this foreign concept of fear. It worms and burrows through me. I need to come out of this situation alive and intact. These two can go if I can. It seems only fair at this point. I don't want to be Dearly Departed Dexter. I like breathing 'Dynamic Dexter' just the way he is.

I look up as the door swings open, Buffy enters first. The look on her face is not one that's pleased. And given the situation the three of us find ourselves in I can certainly see why. She doesn't move by the open door and I wonder where Willow is.

My curiosity is answered immediately. She enters quietly passing a silent look to her lover. I take in the two very upset faces and I think maybe I can get out of this intact. Maybe a little worse for the wear, but I won't complain. Maybe my future isn't in their hands after all.

More silent communication and Willow turns to me. Striding up to me, her thumb presses against my lips as she says, "Fides and Veritas, I invoke thee. I invoke thee to banish Apate and Dolos. Remove all trickery and deceit from these mortal lips. Grant him strength of veracity and sincerity. As I will it, so shall it be."

As she speaks, a hard tug pulls out from the center of my chest and my head spins. Willow steps back and I shake my head trying to clear the cobwebs her touch caused.

What just happened? Was that a spell? The spinning comes to a rest and I blink, clearing my vision. Willow's sitting on the edge of the bed and Buffy's pacing the length of the room as my vision comes back into focus.

"Ready?" Buffy asks. Willow's nod causes Buffy to turn a cold gaze in my direction. "What's your name?"

What kind… "Dexter Morgan," I answer. What just happened?

"Why were you here tonight?" Buffy asks as soon as I answer my name.

"To kill you and Willow." Okay, this isn't…

"Why?" Her hands go to her hips as she stops pacing.

I try not to answer, but the words come anyhow, "Because I found evidence that links you two to the killings. The police reports, the knife and other things. You two showed up a day after the first body was found. You've found two out of the three. Because I need to."

"Was this going to be the first time you've killed someone?" Willow asks this question as she fidgets on the bed.

"No," I say against my better judgment. Why can't I shut up?

"How many people have you killed?" Buffy asks.

"Forty-three."

They falter at my answer and if I could smirk, I would. For some reason the feeling that I've sealed my fate causes the good natured levity about death that I possess to fly out the window.

My future is definitely not in my hands.

"Why?" It seems that 'why?' is Buffy's favorite question.

How do I answer that? "They met Harry's Code. They were rapists, murders, child molesters. They needed to die. I enjoyed it and I killed them." I guess I just answered my own question.

"All of them?" Willow croaks.

"Yes."

"What's the Harry Code?" Buffy's curiosity peaks.

I swallow thickly then answer, "A set of guidelines laid out by my foster father Harry Morgan."

"Guidelines?" both of them ask at the same time.

I've caught on to the fact that I can't not answer their questions and as the words tumble from my mouth, I cringe. "They're rules that Harry gave me to live by. Make sure that the people I kill are criminals. Make sure I don't get caught. Don't kill for personal reasons."

Buffy's eyebrow is in her hairline and she stammers unable to ask any more questions. Willow's nearly picked a hole in the sheet.

"What did you do to me?" I ask the question this time. Might as well give it a shot.

Willow's head shoots up and she looks me in the eyes. "It's a truth spell," she answers blandly.

A what? "A spell? Like hocus pocus? Mumbo-jumbo?"

An annoyed look passes over her as she says, "A spell, yes. And it's not mumbo jumbo-y or well, I guess it's hocus-pocus-y, but not in the lame way."

Huh? "So the things I found today in your room – are you telling me that's all real?" I can't believe I just asked that. It's not like there are many more options. I just knew that undergrad philosophy course was going to come back to bite me in the ass one day. If Misuca was here, he'd say, 'Fuckin' Occam's Razor, Dex. Occam's _fuckin'_ Razor.' And I'd be forced – am forced to agree. The simplest solution for 'Disbelieving Dexter' is to take the information they have and the events of tonight as evidence of magick, demons, vampires and other things that go bump in the night.

"Yes," Buffy finds her voice. The answer leaves no room for argument.

Willow's voice is soft as she asks, "Why do you kill?"

My head snaps in her direction and I answer. "Because I have to. It's who I am." It's as simple an answer as I can give. It's a cold, hard truth. I can't stop killing people anymore than I can stop breathing and continue to live. There have been very few times where I've wished it weren't the case, but overall, I like the person that I am. Evil or not. Damned or not.

Our eyes are locked and I know now that my fate's sealed. 'Devilish Dexter's' as damned as damned could be.

And for some reason the only other thing that I can think is that Deb won't be pleased.


	9. Heroes & Villains

**Ch. 9 – Heroes & Villains**

I shrug off the fatigue and annoyance of the last few hours to check the restraints one more time. I still can't believe I'm doing this. I don't know why I agreed.

It's sheer insanity. Buffy's brain needs checked that much is obvious.

I give the ropes one final hard tug to make sure nothing's lose and for some reason I flash back to what feels like forever ago. Instead of Dexter's mildly frightened features, I see Spike sitting smugly in the tub. I see the peroxide bleached hair slicked back and the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I smell the microwaved cow's blood. I shake off the annoying vision to refocus on Dexter's wide eyed look of disbelief.

Maybe if I was him I'd be just as skeptical. I know I'm trying to figure out why we can't turn him in, call his sister or do something besides feel trapped in a lose–lose situation.

I try for reassuring and say, "We'd offer you a more comfy spot, but…" I trail off at his look…Right that helped. What the hell was I thinking?

And we're right back to screwy brained Buffy.

He smiles tightly, nodding his acceptance of the situation. I shrug. Least he's smart enough to accept what's going on.

Shoving a pillow behind his back I cover him up with the blanket. Not the best solution for stowing away a captive, but it'll do for now. Leaving the small light above the sink on, I turn the main light out. I crack the door to the bathroom and make my way over to the bed.

Well, at least something's are consistent. I can still keep someone against their will with the best of them. Nice to know I haven't lost all my skills.

Willow's still huffing around. She's removed the restraints from the chair and the bed. They're in a pile over by the trash can.

I blink and clear my vision as the exhaustion returns full force. The headboard creaks slightly as I slump against it. I watch her pace the length of the room, snatching the few pictures of the dead girls off the dresser and regret slithers its way into my gut.

I've spent time, lots and lots of time wishing that things were different that I'd acted faster or done something different, but held off because of the sheer wackiness that revolves around my existence. What _was_ my biggest regret moves around agitated at the situation we've found ourselves in.

And that's the other thing, _this_ thing. I shouldn't have waited. She's beautiful, she loves me and like an idiot I didn't do what I intended to because…

Because I'm a moron.

I sit up straighter and reach for my duffle bag at the foot of the bed.

Ya know…

There's this point in your life where you either clue up or you end up with a permanently useless stubbed toe. I think I'm clueing up. I'm tired of waiting until things get better. The long of the short is that they don't.

Period.

It's one thing after another. A tug at the corners of my mouth causes me to smile as I watch my Will move through our room annoyed and not just a little bit shaken. I get it. Reaching in, I remove the small box from its hiding place and slip it under my pillow.

Waiting for the right moments just don't come. There's never a right moment. You just gotta do it. I waited to tell her how I felt about her and that cost me years of happiness. It cost her lots too. I waited to propose to her and look where that got me.

It got me here watching her agitation mount into a full on Wiccan wig. I rally my strength and get off the bed. Crossing the room in a few long strides, I stop her from moving anymore. I look up into tired green eyes and try for the half smile thingy that I know she likes.

"Will, I think we've done what we can for tonight," I whisper softly. I don't need Dexter overhearing any of this. "Come to bed with me?"

Her face loses some of the tension and she nods, grabbing my hand. We quickly disrobe and slide under the covers. Switching off the bedside lamp, I turn and slip my arms around her in an embrace that I've mastered over the years. I spoon with her. My front to her back as my right arm strokes the smooth skin of her tummy.

My ministrations have the desired effect and soon she's melted into me. I suppress my ego and instead kiss my way up her neck. Her purr of approval spurs me along. Stroking up her side, I let my hand wander and play with the bits of flesh it touches.

"Hey, Will?" I whisper into her ear. Her response is a throaty moan as her bottom presses harder into me. I stifle my own moan and muster up resolve. "I, well, we…" lamely, I trail off…Christ, Summers pull it together.

I had words for this. I had this planned out. Now it's shot to hell and I'm losing any nerve I found.

I know she feels the tension spike and she turns in my arms pressing against me now front to front. Her eyes search mine as she smiles encouragingly.

I gaze back and find the backbone I lost. I trace the side of her face and lazily make my way down her jaw line. "What I was trying to say, is just…I've been…there have been thoughts. Good thoughts. And part of this vacation was to tell you about those thoughts."

She smiles warmly at my less than stellar attempt at articulation. Mustering up more of the backbone that's not, I continue, "We've known each other a while Will. We've been together for a while too. And with what I do. What I am. I don't - waiting isn't a good. It's bad. And when I've waited, ya know, not made with the seizing, I've regretted it."

Shifting slightly, I reach under my pillow and grab the box. I resist the urge to just thrust the damn thing into her hands. Instead I look to her and meet her curious gaze. "The night we found the first body, I had something planned. It got ruined and now after tonight, after coming as close as we did to losing our lives, again. I'm done. Perfect moments probably don't exist unless you make'em. So I'm making mine."

Revealing the box in my hand, I lift the lid and expose the ring inside. As cheesy goes, I figure I'm safe. I haven't told her she's the wind beneath my wings, started crying or any of the other lame things I've seen people do when they propose. "I know it's not really legal-legal, to ask you to be my wife, but I'll take life partner. Then when legal is legal for us to do the wife bit, I'd like to…so uhm, will you?"

Her smile lights up the darkened room and I can see the unshed tears pool in her eyes. All I need is the slight nod she gives me and I'm tearing the ring out of the box. I take her hand and kiss the knuckle before slipping it on.

* * *

How does she do that? How can she surprise me so much after knowing her for so long? I glance down at the ring adorning my left hand. Its silver with a square cut diamond nestled between two teardrop sapphires. I tear my gaze away from the thing I didn't think I'd ever get. Not that I didn't think about it. It's just – well, with what we do – marriage is, it's not something I thought any of us would do or get to do.

But here it is and here Buffy is asking me for a major commitmenty type thing. I meet her slightly awed hazel eyes. I knew when she stopped me and asked me to come to bed that the argument we had in the hallway was forgotten, forgiven even.

But I didn't expect this.

I dip my head down and place a soft, loving kiss on supple lips. It deepens as I put my answer and my heart into the embrace. I slide my hands down her small form and cup her bottom pushing us closer together.

The tension from the conversation in the hallway dissipates and I melt. Glad that we decided on minimal clothing, I shift our positions and straddle her thighs. Not breaking the kiss I fumble for her shorts and manage to slip them down her legs to the bottom of the bed. I break off and motion her up to slip off her tank top.

She glances down at the panties I'm wearing and smirks. Her two index fingers hook to the sides and she tugs. The seams give way and before I know it she's tossing them on the floor. I liked those. I'm about to form a protest but stop as I look at her.

I smile instead and shrug. Deciding that they can be easily replaced and I've more important things to concern myself with. Namely the blonde beneath me and intense tinglies.

The little bit of ambient light shadows her, but I don't need much to see the look on her face. My eyes travel over her body. It's something I don't think I'll ever tire of looking at. She's not perfect, she's not Hollywood or what most consider to be the perfect female form, but she's mine. That's the important part. I'll take my imperfect beauty over any of the images Hollywood has to offer.

I allow fingertips to slightly graze over sensitive skin, cupping a breast and toying with the erect nub. Her small gasps let me know my attentions are having the desired effect. I move slowly, not wanting to rush any of this. I shift my weight and straddle her thigh, spreading myself open on her tensed muscle. Pressing my self down and using my right thigh to press into her center, I lean down to capture her lips.

I seal my lips to hers and she flexes her thigh bringing it up to meet my short downward thrust…

And I'm…

Gone…

Wha…? My eyes flutter open as I respond to Buffy calling my name softly. I'm nestled in the crook of her arm and we're kinda sticky. I blink and look up at her. She's smirking down at me while she plays with a strand of my hair.

"Welcome back," she whispers.

I blush slightly and mumble, "I was here. Right here, missy."

"Uh-huh," she placates me, sounding totally unconvinced and way too sure of herself. I'd be to if I were her.

Instead of dignifying her sarcasm with a response, I decide to play and close my lips around the closest nipple, flicking it with my tongue. She groans lightly and I smile around the bit of flesh in triumph.

She pulls me up and kisses me lightly before saying, "Gotta say, Will, if you wanna answer my questions with a yes like that at any other point in the future, I'm so totally up for it."

"I'll make a note." I grin and move so that we're now on our sides facing each other. I pull her free hand to my chest and kiss the knuckles. "Buff, I…are you sure?"

I want to smack myself in the forehead as soon as the words leave my mouth. Of course she's sure. Buffy doesn't do things like this all willy nilly. Of course I'm not sure she's ever proposed before, but still. This is huge. For her it's monumentous. I should know better and by the mildly hurt look that crosses her features I know I upset her a bit.

Trying to recover, I scramble, "I mean, well, I know that we have our lives pretty meshy now. It's just that you and the…" I watch her start to shut down and I know I'm losing her. Great Rosenberg. I need to learn to keep quiet sometimes.

She tries to pull away, but I stop her. "Don't Buffy. My answer's a yes, A great, big, loud type yes. It's just that…I don't know."

She comes around slightly at my emphatic yes, but it's the plaintive 'I just stuck my foot in my mouth' look that swings her around fully. As I ready myself to launch into another tizzy, she places her finger against my lips to silence me.

"Will, I get it." She takes the finger from against my lips to only replace it with a thumb that slides across them in a gentle caress. "I've thought about this lots. It's pretty clear to me that you and I are a done deal. And I just want you to know that I know and I want others to know too."

She twists around and rummages around in her duffle bag on the floor. Popping back up, she has a manila file folder in her hands. She scooches up in the bed and lays the folder on her outstretched legs to open it. I can't see much of it in the dark, but I know official legally type papers when I see them. I look up at her slightly confused.

Sensing my unasked questions, she supplies, "I had these drawn up at the beginning of the year. It's a bunch of legal stuff that pretty much says you get everything I have when I die. All decisions are left in your hands if anything were to happen to me."

Oh. Uh…

"I know it's a lot, but with the way things are, I just don't want to leave it to chance. What if I get hurt and you can't get into see me. I know that you would somehow, but I don't wanna take that chance. I don't want something to happen to me and you get left in the cold because people are stupid and think that we shouldn't be together."

Her voice hitches at the last part. I smile sadly at her and nod. I get it. I just – I didn't think she would have put this much effort into everything. I nod at her to continue and take her hand.

"Jimmy helped with some of it. He got some of the documents that I needed. There's insurance stuff here to." She sobers slightly and meets my eyes, continuing, "Will, I know it's huge, but I've thought this through. So no second guessing me. 'Kay?"

"Okay." I reach for the file folder and thumb through the documents. I can't see much, but the headings are clear.

"I…" she stops and tentatively starts again, "I was hedging my bets and had similar paperwork drawn up for you. I've signed everything there, you just need to and then it goes to Jimmy's lawyer to finalize."

Closing the file, I reach around and place it on the nightstand on my side of the bed. "I'll sign them in the morning and we can Fed-Ex them to him tomorrow."

She let's out a breath I didn't know she was holding. Her smile's wide and her eyes shimmer in the darkness. I see one tear begin to make it's way down her cheek and I catch it with a finger. Caressing the cheek with my thumb, I say, "Does this mean we get to hyphenate our names? 'Cause that's gonna make for an awful long name."

My joke has the desired effect and she laughs, breaking some of the tension.

"Honestly, I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"We'll work on it, but this does mean you're going to have to convert. And just so you know Torah classes are boring."

She rolls her eyes and I snuggle into her, resting my head on her shoulder.

"Will," she whispers, "about Dexter and what I said in the hallway…I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Don't." I stop her. There's no need to rehash what was said in the heat of an argument. Instead I say, "I know it's not the best solution, but…"

"What else are we gonna do," she finishes. "We can't turn him in. No evidence. We can't kill him because he's human. We can't just let him go 'cause he's killing people. I get that. I just – do you think giving him the chance is going to work?"

I look up at her and my mouth pinches in thought. I answer honestly, "I don't know. I know that he deserves a shot and maybe we can turn him around."

"Will, he's a sociopath. Sure a cuddly one, but he's still a killer."

"And so am I. You didn't give up on me. You didn't give up on Angel, Spike or Faith. It's not fair to give up on him." My words are soft, intended to prove a point not dredge up bad memories from the past.

"Yeah, but those were different. I just don't know if pairing him up with a slayer is going to help. I deal with people like him all the time. They don't change. I don't think they can."

I understand. I've read the research. I just don't see any other way out of this. "I think maybe if we can give him a different direction, it may just work. He gets the protection of a slayer and gets to kill things. Things that should be killed."

She purses her lips and I prepare for another round of arguing. She surprises me by shrugging. Her features soften and she nods. "Maybe. This is – it sucks."

My agreement is given as I nod slightly. It does suck, but I can't think of another solution. I'm glad she's on board. Now all we have to do is convince Dexter to stop killing people and start killing demons. This is going to end well, I just know it.

* * *

I'm surprised when I feel the ropes loosen around my body as I slowly become conscious. A small part of my brain wonders why I found the bath tub so comfortable. At this point I really don't think it matters. 'Dreaming Dexter' becomes conscious and Buffy's hands assuredly pull me from my porcelain bed.

I know they came to some type of resolution last night, but I don't know what it will be. I can only guess. Turning me in will probably be the best course of action.

If it were me, I'd feed me to a demon and be done with it. I watch wearily as Buffy leads me from the bathroom to the bedroom and out to the living room. Willow sits stoically on the couch. Perched next to her is a girl, no more than eighteen maybe nineteen. My gaze locks with the girl and her eyes belie her age. What should be young innocent eyes staring back at me are not. They're older than I could have guessed. The eyes of a victim.

Well, no not a victim. But the eyes of someone that grew up too quickly and with not near enough fun. Buffy and Willow have that look to them. I'm sure that I do too if you can look closely enough.

"Sit," Buffy commands. I dutifully take a seat in the designated chair and await my sentencing. She begins a tight pace across the length of the room. I can see her building up steam to something.

I can only wait.

"You know Dexter, doing what I do. Having done what I did. I thought, I at least hoped, that I had seen all the different types of monsters I was going to. I thought that…hell, I thought I could just - not." She turns to me, placing her hands on her hips. Her look is - there's this sea of resignation and regret in her hazel eyes and I can't help but wonder what she's going to say.

How I thought this was going to go seems to not be going that way. 'Disquisitive Dexter' takes the reigns and my Dark Passenger; he perks up from the backseat.

She breaks eye contact and begins softly, "Last night I was reminded that, everyone, no matter who or what they are deserve the chance. They should be given the chance to redeem themselves. Being me. Being a cop, I forgot that somewhere along the way."

Her voice picks up steam as she passes a glance to Willow. Rounding on me she meets my gaze and it takes everything I have to not shrink into my seat. "So here's the sitch, this is Siobhan, she's like me. A slayer. You two are going to work together."

What? My mind reels. A slayer? What the fuck?

"Buffy, you're uhm," Willow's voice jumps in and she looks back and forth between Buffy, Siobhan and me.

She blushes slightly and stammers, "Right, back story. Will, you wanna take the Watcher speech?"

Willow rolls her eyes and then turns to me, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm gonna keep this short, kay?"

I giver her a slight nod, urging her to continue.

"The world is older than you know. Before humans, this place was full of demons, hell beasts. At some point the humans banded together and created a slayer. The slayer was a girl forced to accept the strength, speed and other attributes of a demon. She was also forced to help fight them. To protect Earth and the humans that resided here from them."

She looks at me to see if I'm following along. Truthfully, I'm on the edge of my seat. I'm eating this up.

My slight nod allows her to continue, "For a very long time, there was only one slayer. Things changed and then there were two. Now, there are lots more, over a thousand helping to control the demon population. Siobhan is one of the thousand and Buffy was the last of the one."

I nod trying to understand. "So Siobhan is part of the thousands and Buffy…" I trail off looking at her. The one? What kind of Matrix bullshit are they trying to pull? "Like Neo?" I ask, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth.

I get a triple eye roll and shrink back in my seat.

"No, I'm not Keanu Reeves. I was the last of the singular slayers. My death sophomore year in high school caused a split in the slayer line. It's been down hill since there," she says's the last part wirily, a small smile creeping at the corners of her mouth.

I nod and purse my lips. Oh. "So what does this mean?" My curiosity getting the best of me.

"It means," Siobhan speaks for the first time. Her accent there but barely, "That you and I are working together." My guess Irish.

My eyebrows go up at this. "What?"

Buffy runs her hands through her hair and leans into me meeting my startled gaze. "It means that I'm giving you the chance to be less of a monster and to do some real good in this world. You work with our slayer to help take out demons and we don't have to take you out. We clear?"

I swallow the lump in my throat. They're gonna let me go? I manage to bypass the frog in my throat and say, "You're letting me go?"

"No and yes," Willow says. "We're giving you a chance to be, to do some real good. You can't just go around killing humans. It's not for you to judge them as you see fit. Demons are different. They thrive on true pain and misery. This is a chance for you to be more than what you are. If you're willing to help."

The last piece is said with an edge. The threat in the unsaid is clear. I'm not left with much of a choice here. Does the Dark Defender take a partner and go after true live monsters or do I decline and become Dexter the Dead?

It's really not so much of a choice. My dark passenger is howling at the opportunity to go up against something far more formidable than a human. Having a partner might not be too bad. I flash quickly back to Biney and something tightens in my chest.

I think this may be something we can work with.


End file.
